


Inherit the Wind

by speakpirate



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Emison - Freeform, F/F, F/M, Gen, Post-6B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-01
Updated: 2016-06-21
Packaged: 2018-05-30 14:45:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 41
Words: 62,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6428434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/speakpirate/pseuds/speakpirate
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>The letters on the sign for the Lost Woods Resort flicker on and off, the sound loud in the darkness, like a bug zapper on a summer night. </i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Mona seems like the only person capable of movement.  Caleb is staring at the broken boards over the door, the splintered wreckage of his best laid plans.  Aria and Ezra are still transfixed by the surveillance video. Emily’s face is a mask of frozen terror as she clutches her phone, and even Toby, with all his years as a cop, seems to have lost any instinct other than to stand around helplessly, his arms at his sides.</i>
</p>
<p>This story picks up where the 6B finale left off and imagines a version of Season 7 that I'd really like to see.  More mystery, fewer loose ends! More surprises, less cheating!  More Vanderjesus!  And of course, more Emison.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Long Way to Fall

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers through Hush, Hush, Sweet Liars**
> 
>  
> 
> Enormous thanks to Danielle aka rubydaly for agreeing to be the beta for a project this long!
> 
>  
> 
> \-------------

The letters on the sign for the Lost Woods Resort flicker on and off, the sound loud in the darkness, like a bug zapper on a summer night. Spencer is wearing her party dress, feeling like a mosquito. She should have said no. She should have refused to go along with the plan. She should have come up with a better one. She should have called Jordan and begged him to buy an island somewhere, whisk Hanna off in his private jet before she could go through with letting herself be the bait.

“Spencer,” Mona Vanderwaal says, waving a well manicured hand in front of her face. “Focus! We need to find Hanna.” 

Mona seems like the only person capable of movement. Caleb is staring at the broken boards over the door, the splintered wreckage of his best laid plans. Aria and Ezra are still transfixed by the surveillance video. Emily’s face is a mask of frozen terror as she clutches her phone, and even Toby, with all his years as a cop, seems to have lost any instinct other than to stand around helplessly, his arms at his sides. 

Spencer wonders if she looks as lost as the rest of them, as lost as Caleb, who - no, she shouldn’t be looking at him right now. She can’t bear to read the emotions that are written all over his face.

“Emily!” Mona tries, giving up on rousing Spencer out of shock. She shakes the taller girl roughly by her shoulders, and Emily blinks as if she’s surfacing from deep underwater. “We need to move! This person has Hanna! We need to be getting her back, not standing around in the one place we know she’s not!”

“The tunnel,” Emily suggests. “We know that’s how they got her out. We should go down there, see where it leads. Maybe we can find a trail.”

“Or catch up with them,” Ezra agrees. “They might be moving slow, if they’re dragging -”

“She’s not being dragged!” Caleb insists angrily. He takes a deep breath, but doesn’t apologize for the snarl in his voice. “Give me the computer. I can track her phone.”

“That’s good,” Spencer says, finally. She puts a hand on his shoulder without meeting his eyes. She feels his shoulder tense at the touch, and a wave of jealousy sweeps through her stomach, coating the fear that’s already settled in.

“Is it Mrs. D?” Aria asks. “Out for revenge?”

“The where is more important than the who right now,” Mona says. “The where and the why.”

“Whoever this is, they want justice for Charlotte,” Toby offers. 

“Not justice,” Spencer corrects him. “This is about vengeance.”

“The signal is heading back towards the center of town,” Caleb announces.

“The church,” Spencer says, grabbing her keys. “Let’s go.”

“Wait,” Aria says. “What if they’re playing us? What if Hanna’s phone is tied to the back of a semi and ‘A’ wants us to chase it all the way across Pennsylvania?”

“We don’t have time to argue about this,” Caleb says, sliding into the front seat of Spencer’s car.

“She’s right,” Mona says. “We should split up. You guys take the tunnel, we’ll take the church.” 

“You’re not coming with us,” Caleb protests.

“You're the one who lost her,” Mona says, rolling her eyes as she and Toby hop into the backseat. "You don't get to pick teams for the search and rescue."

Spencer shares a look with Emily and Aria, then nods. She peels off with a screech of tires back towards town.

\------

Spencer drives back towards town, her heels scraping against the floor mat as she pushes the speedometer past 100mph. If she drives fast enough, maybe they’ll save Hanna. Or maybe just outpace the awkwardness of their rescue party, she thinks. Toby is leaning forward, his hand on Spencer’s shoulder, but Caleb is too busy glaring at Mona in the rearview mirror to spare them a glance. Spencer leans forward. Toby’s hand falls away.

\------

She slams on her brakes in front of the church, parking with two tires flung up on the curb, as if the tree lawn and sidewalk are a gentle suggestion - okay to disregard in life or death situations.

Half a second later, Spencer is out of the car, her shoes kicked off, running barefoot for the door with the other three close behind her. She’s only halfway there when the church bell starts to clang, when the windows are lit up with flashes and a burst of gunfire sounds, when a body falls from the top of the bell tower, and everything shifts into a nightmarish slow motion.

It falls to the ground with a dull thud, and Hanna Marin’s face stares blankly towards the sky.


	2. Take the Hit

“This is Officer Cavenaugh. I have shots fired at the church. Repeat, shots fired. Requesting immediate back up. One civilian down, request medical assist asap.”

Spencer hears Toby calling it in, his voice sounding far away although he’s less than two feet from her elbow. Caleb and Mona are already kneeling next to the body, Caleb sobbing as he searches Hanna’s neck for a pulse. 

Toby draws his gun, starts running for the church doors. His back up won’t get here in time, Spencer realizes. She feels a cold dread run along her spine. They’ve lost Hanna, she thinks. She’s not going to lose Toby, too.

She tears her eyes away from Hanna’s face and runs after him.

The interior of the church is dark and quiet, the smell of gunpowder and furniture polish strong in the air. There are heavy footsteps from above, and a figure staggers down the steps towards them.

“POLICE!” Toby shouts. “STOP OR I’LL SHOOT!”

The footsteps continue, and Spencer grips Toby’s elbow so hard she thinks her nails might be drawing blood. 

“FREEZE!” Toby commands. “HANDS UP!”

Whoever it is makes no move to put their hands up, their hands are in their pockets, their face in the shadows. They lurch forward, down two more steps, and Toby stops calling out warnings. He sees a black hoodie and fires. 

There’s a thunking sound as his target crumbles and slides down the remaining the steps, a pool of blood darkening the floor beneath him.

His hoodie isn’t black, it’s gray and soaked with blood. His face is ghastly white and clearly visible in the glow of the streetlamps through the window. It’s Lucas Gottesman.

“Stay back,” Toby orders Spencer, as sirens become audible in the distance. He pulls out his phone, starts calling for additional medics.

She ignores him, darting under his arm and running over to where Lucas has fallen.

“Was it you?” she demands. “Did you take Hanna? Did you throw her off the tower?” He’s bleeding badly from the shoulder and the abdomen. 

Lucas shakes his head, gasping for breath.

Spencer grabs a kneeling cushion and presses it against his stomach.

“Tried to...save her,” Lucas whispers, as if he’s using every ounce of energy to get the words out. He puts his fingers around Spencer’s wrist, grimacing with the pain. “Saw someone. Carrying her.”

“Where did they go?”

“Swung down,” he says, gritting his teeth. “Bell rope. I went - up.” After Hanna, Spencer thinks. Of course he did. “Got shot. Was trying - to get - downstairs. Toby.”

“Shot you again,” Spencer finishes, and Lucas nods. The sirens are getting louder, closer.

"Caleb,” he wheezes, his eyes losing focus. “Loft. Ipad.”

“Stay with me, okay?” Spencer says. “Lucas!”

“Hanna,” he moans. “Is she -”

Spencer looks at him, mentally calculates how much blood he’s losing every second that he’s sprawled here.

If it’s a sin to lie to a dying man in a church, she figures her soul will have to take the hit.

She opens her mouth, starts to form the words to tell him Hanna’s fine, that he’ll probably see her soon. 

That’s when she hears Mona shouting outside the window.

“It’s not her! It’s not Hanna!”


	3. Pants on Fire

The tunnel is pitch black and narrow. It’s smell is part wet dog, part musty basement, but there’s the faintest trace of Chanel No 5 still lingering in the air, and Emily’s flashlight beam is shining on definite drag marks through the dust. 

“Why can’t it ever be a clean, well-lighted trail?” Aria grumbles, trying to step around a pile of damp leaves.

“Because ‘A’ wants to ruin our lives. And our shoes,” Emily answers.

“And our noses,” Ezra adds, as the tunnel widens a bit and a new smell reaches them, making Emily want to retch.

A few minutes later, they find themselves at a confluence of the Rosewood sewer system, with new tunnels branching off in three different directions. 

“The drag marks stop here,” Emily observes, worriedly.

“They could have gone out,” Ezra suggests, pointing at a manhole cover above them. “Gotten into a car. They could be anywhere.”

“But if they were dragging her like dead weight, how would they get her up a ladder?” Aria asks. “I mean, even if you threw her over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, I don’t think you could get up and out.”

“So we split up,” Emily suggests, tentatively. “And hope that ‘A’ doesn’t snatch us up one by one.”

“I don’t like the sound of that,” Ezra frowns.

“Like I do?” Emily snaps. “Do you not have a television? The lesbian always gets killed first!”

“Guys,” Aria says, standing between them. “Hanna, remember? Kidnapped?”

“We split up,” Ezra nods, although his voice is clipped, “Even though she’s probably miles away above ground by now.”

“You’re not helping,” Aria chides him.

“I don’t want to lose you, too,” he replies. 

Emily’s glad that it’s dark enough that they won’t notice her rolling her eyes.

“Alright,” she says. “You figure it out. I’m taking the one on the left.”

\--------

Hanna Marin groans as she feels a blast of cold water against her face. She opens her eyes and instinctively tries to move her hand to wipe her eyes. That’s when she feels the rope cutting into her wrists, the throbbing pain in her right temple. She’s nursing a head wound and tied to a chair. Of course. So much for the plan, she thinks.

A blue glove in a beige coat sleeve reaches around and roughly towels off her face. Hanna tries to turn her head to get a look at her captor, but she gets slapped hard across the cheek for her trouble. She tastes blood in her mouth, then feels a belt being tightened around her chest, the cuff and electrodes on her fingers and arm. 

She follows the wires with her eyes, and sure enough, sees a polygraph machine in the corner. A video camera is set up nearby, and the blinking red light probably means it’s already recording. There’s a creepy looking doll on the floor in front of her, holding a cell phone. A computerized voice emanates from the speakers.

“What is your name?”

“Hanna Marin,” she swallows hard, tries to breathe evenly.

“Is your father Tom Marin?”

“Yes.”

“Are you in love with Caleb Rivers?”

“What does it matter to you?” Hanna asks, incredulous.

“Are you in love with Caleb Rivers?” The electronic voice repeats.

“I’m not going to sit here and talk about my love life with Siri!” Hanna complains. “Do you want to know about Charlotte or not?”

“Are you in love with Caleb Rivers?”

“No,” Hanna says. “Next question.”

\--------

Aria is hurrying down the sewer tunnel, praying at every turn that she’s not going to be grabbed up by ‘A’ or trip over Hanna’s body. The acoustics in here are weird, she thinks, especially the way her footsteps echo. She stops to listen as her heart sinks to the pit of her stomach. 

It’s not an echo. It’s another set of footsteps.

\---------

Emily is thinking about her dad as she walks alone through the sewer. How he looked in uniform. How he would have laughed at her for shrieking at the sight of a racoon, told her it was probably more scared of her than she was of it.

Something shiny sparkles in the beam of her flashlight.

She bends down to pick it up. It’s Hanna’s engagement ring.

\----------

“I left the hotel room,” Hanna says, trying to force her heart rate to be calm. Trying to think about beaches on the French Riviera, instead the shadowy figure behind her and whether or not she’s about to be killed. “Everyone else was still asleep.”

“I went to the church. Jordan was acting annoyed that I hadn’t set a date or picked a venue, and since my mom runs The Radley, I was thinking maybe a small ceremony there and a big reception at the hotel. But when I saw Charlotte there - I totally snapped. I wanted to hurt her like she hurt all of us. I wanted to kill her. I grabbed a candlestick and hit her from behind. Then I dragged her up the stairs and threw her off the bell tower to make it look like a suicide.” Hanna feels the tears in her eyes. It’s her command performance, and it’s probably not going to fool anyone. 

“I erased the security footage. I asked Lucas to be my fake alibi. I didn’t tell anyone. The others - they didn’t know.”

Hanna wishes she’d done more than kiss Gabriel Holbrook. She wishes she’d gone to bed with him, made him tell her everything he knew about how to fool those fucking machines. She wishes her mom had married Pastor Ted, that he could have taught her how to pray loud enough that God would move the needle just enough, just a few centimeters, just enough to adjust the boundary lines between the truth and the lie that might save her friends. The silence lengthens as Hanna tries to steady her breathing, subtly test the ropes that have her arms bound to the chair. 

“Liar,” the doll’s voice says. “Liar. Liar!”

\-----------

Aria runs as fast as she can down the tunnel. At the next corner, she catches sight of a ladder. 

She turns off her flashlight and climbs up. 

\-----------

Emily is running as silently as she can through the darkness. She’s turned off her flashlight so that her eyes can adjust. Whoever has Hanna, if they’re down here, she wants to see them before they see her.

She thinks about Hanna, all the times they’ve been in danger together. She remembers waking up outside the carbon monoxide barn, her head in Ali’s lap. She bites her lip and runs faster, as if she can outrun the memory of that kiss, as if saving Hanna will cancel out Ali being locked in the mental hospital.

\--------- 

Hanna feels a syringe plunge into the side of her neck. She tries to headbutt her captor, but her range of motion is too limited. She still hasn’t seen more of them than the stupid blue hand.

A bright light shines directly into her eyes, blinding her, as she feels something sticky sliding across her forehead. Are they writing on her? A message for when the others find her body?

This, she thinks, is probably the part where they kill her. She’s starting to feel woozy already. Maybe they’ll harvest her organs. Her head feels really heavy, like a bowling ball, but her brain feels fizzy, like it’s made of champagne.

There’s a flash, as if the bastard is taking pictures of his handiwork. Hanna fights back a giggle at the thought of ‘A” having an Instagram account. She’s jolted back to reality when the electronic voice cuts through her floaty thoughts.

“Who attacked Charlotte DiLaurentis?”

“I…..did,” Hanna says, although it’s getting harder to make herself form the words. Hard to remember why she’s supposed to.

“Who attacked Charlotte?”

Hanna tries to shake her head to clear it. 

“Who did it? Was it one of your friends?”

“Don’t know.” Part of Hanna’s brain is horrified, but also powerless to stop the words falling out of her mouth.

“Are you in love with Caleb Rivers?”

“Noooo.”

“Did anyone leave the hotel that night?”

Hanna tries her best to stay silent. Bites her tongue to remind herself not to answer. But it’s such hard work.

“Did anyone leave the hotel that night?”

“Yesssss,” Hanna nods, her eyes slack and unfocused.

“Who?”

Hanna spits blood on the floor instead of answering.

“Someone left. Was it Spencer?”

“No.”

“Was it Emily?”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Was it Aria?”

This is a tough one, Hanna thinks.

“Ezra,” Hanna mumbles.

\----------

“Ezra!” Aria shrieks, shining her flashlight directly into the eyes of her pursuer as he races around the corner. 

“Aria?” he replies, confused.

“Why are you following me?” Aria hisses. “You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“My tunnel dead ended,” Ezra winces, his hand covering his face. “I wanted to make sure you were safe.”

\------------

Emily sees the faintest outline of light ahead, a glowing rectangle outlining a hidden door, probably. She approaches slowly, tries to calculate how long she was running, the general direction she’s been heading since they left the Lost Woods Resort. She sees a rusty wheelbarrow discarded a few feet from the door, knows this is it. This is where she’s going to find Hanna. 

Dad, she thinks, if you’re up there - let Spencer figure it out, too.

\----------

“Did Aria leave the hotel? To meet Ezra? Is that why you erased the security tape?”

“Yesssssss,” Hanna says, her head lolling on her chest, just as the door flies open and Emily Fields bursts into the room.

\---------

Caleb is behind the wheel of Spencer’s car, his mouth tight and his eyes red. They’re driving away from the scene at the church, Toby having slipped Spencer out the side door the moment the paramedics arrived to tend to Lucas.

He has no idea where they’re going, but he’s heading in the general direction of the Lost Woods Resort. Maybe they can at least get rid of Mona, get everyone back to their own cars. Spencer can come up with a plan, he tells himself. Once they’re back at the barn, once it’s just the two of them, things will start making sense. She’ll know what to do.

At the moment, Spencer is in the backseat with Mona, studying the mannequin with Hanna’s face. Mona has the wig off, and is tracing a hand almost tenderly along the scalp line of the mask.

“It looks so real,” Spencer says, probing a cheek with her thumb and forefinger. “I really thought it was her.”

“I was sure it was,” Mona admits, running her fingers along an earlobe. “Until I felt the hand.” She shoots Caleb a look in the rearview mirror, sending him a signal that she’s being nice, not mentioning how he kissed the stupid thing without realizing it was fake.

Bullshit, Caleb thinks. There’s no such thing as nice when it comes to Mona. There’s only another Mona under the surface, saving it up for later, like a psychotic squirrel hoarding an arsenal of acorns and secrets.

“Stop it,” he says, his voice cold and a little raspy. “Stop manhandling her.”

Spencer looks up, the mannequin hand in her own. Her eyes are red, too, but she answers him in a kinder voice than he probably deserves, all things considered. “I know this is hard,” she says, her voice low and raw with emotion. “And I’m not going to tell you not to panic right now, because things are bad, Caleb. Really bad. But this - it’s not Hanna - it’s a clue, okay? We can figure it out. We always do.”

Caleb sees Spencer give him a watery smile in the mirror, sees the briefest smirk flit across Mona’s face, and swallows hard as he nods. 

That’s when the phone pings.

And pings again.

From the pocket of the mannequins coat.

Spencer pulls it out carefully. It’s Hanna’s phone, the one they’d been tracking.

The first text is a picture of Hanna with a head wound, tied to a chair, looking dazed and squinting. The word LIAR is scrawled across her forehead in bright red lipstick. The second picture is the same as the first.

“Liar, Liar,” Mona muses. “They must know her story’s no good.”

The phone pings again, and Spencer clutches the mannequin hand so hard that the fingers snap off.

“PANTS ON FIRE” the third message taunts. It comes with a picture from the room at the Lost Woods Resort. A picture of Hanna and Caleb kissing.


	4. A World Gone Mad

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Flashbacks are rendered in italics._
> 
>  
> 
> \-------

Emily throws her shoulder against the door, banging into a room where Hanna is tied to a chair and wired to a machine. She strikes out with her flashlight, bringing it down against the head of a blonde in a beige trench coat who tries to rush at her. She hears the casing crack with the force of the blow, and punches with her other hand, car keys splayed between her fingers. The woman’s face _tears_ , and she yelps in pain. Emily elbows her in the face and she falls to the floor, then kicks Emily’s legs out from beneath her. Emily lands badly, twisting her ankle, as Hanna’s captor scrambles up and starts to run out of the room. Emily leaps up and tries to grab her before she makes it to the opposite door, grasping at anything she can reach, which turns out to be their tormentor’s hair. The synthetic blonde wig comes off in Emily’s hand, and the kidnapper sprints away down the corridor.

Emily turns her attention to Hanna, quickly untying her hands.

“Em-ah-leeee!” Hanna trills, sounding kind of drunk. “You’re here!” As if they’ve just run into each other at one of Noel’s parties.

Emily frowns, notices the syringe next to Hanna’s chair. She glances around the room, taking in the video camera and polygraph in the corner, and a bulletin board behind Hanna chock full of grainy black and white surveillance photos and time notations, a map of Rosewood and a blueprint of Radley.

“Are you okay?” Emily asks, her voice full of concern. She bends down and unties Hanna’s legs, takes a close look at the cut and purplish bruise on her temple.

“Peachy!” Hanna tells her. Her pupils are huge. She’s probably been drugged, Emily realizes. That or she has a major concussion.

“Can you walk?” Emily asks, helping Hanna to her feet. Hanna makes a dismissive noise, then takes a step and almost collapses onto Emily.

“Just wanted to hug you,” Hanna mutters, as Emily struggles to stay upright. “Can we go now?”

“Good idea,” Emily agrees, limping and half-dragging Hanna as she guides her friend’s swaying stumble footed progress out the door.

\---------

Spencer can see her parents clinking glasses through the windows of the ballroom. It’s surreal to think that the victory party is still underway. Caleb careens wildly past the valet and around the side of the east side building, the most remote of the old hospital wings.

“Here,” Spencer says. It’s the first word she’s spoken to him in the past fifteen minutes. It was Mona who recognized where the picture of Hanna was taken. Mona who took charge and started texting the others to meet them. Spencer feels like she’s been shot through with novocain, as if her whole body is numb, even as her brain urges her into action.

The three of them rush out of the car and Spencer hurries towards the hidden door where the underground passage lets out. She’s five feet away when the door swings open, and Emily appears, heaving a bedraggled and bemused Hanna along beside her.

“Thank God,” Emily sighs. “Spencer, there’s a bunch of stuff back there, you need to see -”

Hanna’s head snaps up at the sound of Spencer’s name. She gazes at her friends and smiles vaguely. Mona and Caleb both move forward to try and support Hanna’s other shoulder. Hanna grimaces and sags harder against Emily. “I know you wanna kiss me,” she giggles.

The tension radiating off their rescue party is sharp enough to pierce Emily’s adrenaline rush.

“She’s drugged,” Emily explains urgently. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying.”

“Caleb,” Mona snaps, “Go inside and find Ashley.”

“I’m not leaving her,” Caleb protests, shaking his head.

“ _Go_ ,” Spencer says, in a tone of voice that sounds exactly like Melissa used to, ordering Spencer and her friends out of the house when she had a boyfriend over. 

Caleb shoots one last anguished look at Hanna, then jogs quickly back towards the main doors.

Mona glares at Caleb’s retreating back, then carefully takes charge of Hanna. “We’re good,” she promises. She waves a hand at them dismissively, like she’s still one of Hanna’s maids on Homecoming Court. “Have your little sleuthing show and tell!”

Emily tugs Spencer’s arm, leading her back down the passageway.

“What happened at the church?” 

“Nothing good,” Spencer says, tersely. “Are you hurt?”

“It’s my ankle,” Emily says, limping as fast as she can. “Sprained, not broken. I hope.”

Without Hanna hanging around her shoulders, it’s a quick trip back to the room where Hanna was being held.

“This ‘A’ is off their game,” Emily observes. “In the old days, this would have been cleared out two seconds after Hanna and I were out the door.”

“New player, old game,” Spencer mutters, examining the bulletin board.

“Emily?” Aria’s voice echoes from the sewer tunnel. 

“Aria!” Spencer shouts back.

Aria and Ezra appear in the doorway moments later. “Our tunnels dead ended,” Aria pants. “We followed you as fast as we could.”

“We found Hanna,” Emily tells them. “She’s okay.”

“Yeah,” Spencer says, sounding on edge. “Hanna’s fine.”

“That’s great news,” Ezra says. “And we found a lair?”

“We found something,” Spencer replies, grimly as she pockets the syringe. “They drugged her, probably sodium pentothal.” 

“Is that a roofie?” Aria asks, picking up the blonde wig from the floor.

“Worse,” Spencer answers. “A truth serum.” She hands Emily the video camera, then detaches the polygraph wires and gives the machine to Ezra to carry as she motions for Aria to help her pull the bulletin board off the wall.

“Whoa,” Aria says as they heft it between them, revealing even more photos and records taped to the previously concealed part of the wall. The largest one, a glossy portrait sized shot directly in the center of the display, is Charlotte DiLaurentis in a red dress, her left leg kicked up like a movie star as she kisses Dr. Elliott Rollins.

\-----------------

Alison stares at the ceiling of her room, counting the tiles for the twentieth time. She listens for the footsteps of the orderly, which should be passing by three minutes from now. She closes her eyes, evens out her breathing.

Emily will be back in the morning, she tells herself. She’s Emily.

_Alison was standing in her yard, watching the four cars pull away. Everyone was leaving, their trunks full of suitcases and laptops and hope for the future, whatever big dreams that survived intact._

_As Aria turned the corner, Alison vividly recalls peeling out of the parking lot of the Lost Woods resort, a wig on her head and terror in her heart. She still remembers the feeling of seeing Rosewood fade into the rearview mirror, getting smaller every minute, the point on the highway when it went from being home to being memories, a point on the map._

_She pulled out her phone and sent a text._

_> SOS. You forgot something. Come back._

_Three minutes later, Emily was climbing out of her silver Toyota with a confused look on her face._

_Alison ran down the steps and kissed her breathless, then led her back into the house. They didn’t make it upstairs, shedding their clothes across the expanse of the living room floor before tumbling naked onto the couch._

_When they were done, she laid there, her head resting against Emily’s chest, listening to the steady beat of her heart._

_“Don’t forget about me,” Alison said._

_Emily smiled, a smile with the faint trace of her old shyness around the edges. “I won’t,” she promised._

_Half an hour later, Alison watched her drive off. She kept her eyes on Emily’s brake lights as they slipped out of sight, headed for the highway._

_Five years went by._

_Emily never came back._

Alison jolts out of her reverie when she hears the orderly pass, his footsteps pausing outside her door. She counts to one thousand, hoping the plan is a go. She imagines all the parts clicking into place, like the gears on a clock. At exactly that moment, the bolt on her door slides open.

She’s out of bed and into the hallway in seconds, her slippers padding quietly on the tiles as she makes her way towards the records room. She says a silent prayer of thanks as she tries the door, finding it already unlocked. 

She scans the shelves, pulling out the visitors logs for the last six months that Charlotte was here. She grabs her sister’s patient file, an accordion folder stuffed with sheafs of notes. She hesitates for a moment, then moves toward the employee files. She adds the one labeled Elliott Rollins, MD to the top of the pile.

She sneaks everything back to her room, stuffs it quickly underneath the mattress. Two minutes later, she hears the bolt on her door slip back into place. It’s done. 

\---------

In a darkened room of The Radley, a woman’s hand types a message into a Kik chat.

>Need more time.

The response comes almost immediately.

>You’ve already failed.

She types again.

>It wasn’t Hanna. But she gave me a lead. It’s solid.

In front of a bank of computers and monitors, her correspondent reads the words as they appear on the screen.

The unseen figure types back.

>Which one?

The answer appears. _Interesting._

The chat window closes down. A few clicks, and an old photo of Aria Montgomery is displayed on the screen. Moments later, it’s printing. In color, the better to catch the pink streaks in her hair.

A black gloved hand reaches for a marker, scrawls a message in red block letters across Aria’s face: FAMILY MATTERS.


	5. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Thanks again to my excellent beta reader Danielle, who is working hard on behalf of humanity to make sure that I do not have a whole bunch of grammar issues in every chapter of this update. She's like a Wonder Woman of catching missing / misused words and it is thanks to her that I think I have corrected every weird capitalization of Loft. Huge thanks to her for making this story so much better!_
> 
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> \------

“Which bra is your spirit animal?” Mona Vanderwaal’s voice is asking, at the moment when Hanna begins to stir the next morning. “Red Lace, Black Leather, or Plain White?”

Hanna opens her eyes and blinks, taking in the fluorescent lighting, the scratchy paper gown she’s wearing. 

She hears giggling and looks over at the chairs near the window, where Mona and her mom are sitting in adjacent hospital chairs and poring over a magazine quiz together.

“You don’t have to answer,” Mona continues, with a wave of her hand. “Hannakins and I snuck into your room to play dress up during _many_ a sleepover, back in the day. So it’s red lace, and that means: Congratulations, Mrs. M! According to Cosmo, your personal kind of sexy is Hot Mama!” She lowers her voice as she continues, “And I’ve also seen your shoe closet - like I always say, the proof is in the pumps!”

Hanna has a massive headache, her skull is hurting from the inside out, but she smiles. Mona being here means she’ll at least get a makeover before they send her home.

“Hey,” Hanna says, still a little groggy. 

Her mom jumps to her feet. “Hanna! Thank goodness! You’re awake!”

Mona breezes over to the edge of the bed, tucking a stray lock of hair behind Hanna’s ear. “You gave us all a scare, girly-girl! We do _not_ want to lose you to Long Island Iced Teas and allergy medication!” She gives Hanna a wide eyed look that’s so convincing, Hanna can almost taste triple sec on her tongue. “You turned a heel in the parking lot,” Mona continues. “And cracked your head on the concrete.”

Hanna grins as she remembers all the times Mona would make up elaborate stories for their teachers after they’d cut class sophomore year. Listening to her was almost as fun as ditching school in the first place. It’s one of her few happy memories of high school, from the time when it was just the two of them. Back when her worries were more about detention than decapitation. When she thought she and Mona were living the dream, right up until the moment it turned into a nightmare.

“Aria and Emily were here all night,” her mom informs her. Hanna wonders briefly about Spencer and Caleb, but it feels like too loaded a question to ask directly.

“I sent them home to freshen up,” Mona says, imperiously. “Like I told Emily - so Alison got married, that’s no excuse for neglecting your moisturizing regimen!”

“I’m going to go find a doctor,” Ashley announces. “Now that you’re awake, they might be able to release you.”

The moment she’s out the door, Mona grabs Hanna’s hand and drops her voice to a furious hiss. “Hanna Marin, don’t you _ever_ make a plan like that again! Using yourself as bait! Relying on that scruffy boy toy to keep you safe? You’re lucky you didn’t wake up dead!”

“It gets worse,” Hanna says. “Much worse.”

“Well, if you mean your lip lock with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Taken,” Mona says, a hand on her hip, “I’m afraid the cat is already out of the bag. And having kittens.”

Hanna winces. “Spencer knows?”

Mona nods. “Please tell me you don’t want to get back together with him.”

“I don’t know what I want,” Hanna whispers, staring at her toes miserably.

Mona pats her hand. “It’s okay,” she says soothingly, perching on the edge of the bed and flipping the magazine back open. “Now, let’s find out your celebrity soulmate.”

\----------

“Emily!” Caleb calls, shouting excitedly from the other side of the loft. “Emily!”

Emily walks down the staircase, toweling her hair dry. “You got shot trying to save me from Lyndon,” she says with a frown, “which means you get to crash on the couch. But it doesn’t mean I’m not really mad at you, or that I come when you call.”

“Sorry,” he says, waving the ipad like a white flag. “But I found a lot of stuff on here. We need to call a meeting.” She almost feels bad when she sees him up close. He’s ragged and unkempt, his hair standing up at odd angles as if he’s been pulling at it. He clearly hasn’t slept, judging by the empty coffee cups scattered around the living room and the caffeine crazed look in his eyes. He also hasn’t shaved, Emily thinks, noticing the uneven stubble shadowing his hollow cheeks. Or showered, she realizes, wrinkling her nose and giving him a wide berth as she goes to pull a yogurt out of the fridge.

“Do you mean call a meeting, or call Spencer?” Emily asks, suspiciously. 

“I tried. She’s not taking my calls.”

Emily sighs and pulls out her phone.

\----------

Aria tosses an envelope on the kitchen table, where her father is buttering a piece of toast.

“The mail is early,” her mother muses, sipping her coffee as she flips through the newspaper in her robe. The front page headline of the Rosewood Observer proclaims “Tech Mogul Shot!” A picture of Lucas in a suit and tie smiles above the fold.

“It was in the screen door,” Aria shrugs, distracted by a message from Ezra on her phone.

“Everything alright?” Byron asks, raising his eyebrows as he reaches for the envelope.

“Yeah,” Aria says. “Ezra might need to go to Boston to meet with our publicist.”

“Without you?” Ella asks. 

Aria forces herself to smile. “It’s fine. I’ve got enough to worry about here.”

Ella gets up and pours Aria an orange juice. “How’s Hanna?”

“Her mom just texted, it looks like she’s being released later today.”

There’s a clang as Byron’s butter knife clatters to the floor. Aria and Ella turn their heads.

“Honey?” Ella inquires. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Byron says, smiling a little too broadly. He bends down to pick up his silverware, stuffing the envelope into his back pocket as he moves towards the sink. “You know, I don’t think I’ve told you how proud I am of you, Aria.”

“Of course you have,” Aria assures him.

Byron turns on the water, steam rises from the sink as he rinses his breakfast plate. “I was bragging to one of my old colleagues from Reykjavik the other day, and he mentioned that a fellowship residency just opened up out there. It’s a light teaching schedule, a stone cottage with an ocean view. I could make a couple of calls -”

“That sounds amazing,” Aria exclaims. “Is it for next year? Things are gonna be a little crazy until after the book comes out, but I could apply after Christmas, maybe in January. When’s the deadline?”

“That’s the thing,” Byron explains. “They need someone as soon as possible. Next week, if they can. But think about it! Ezra can handle the book, he’s done it before. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity! You should take advantage of this momentum! You could have your next novel done in no time, away from all these distractions!”

“Dad,” Aria says, almost chuckling at how hard he’s trying to sell this. “I can’t go to Iceland next week. The police asked me to stay in town, remember?”

“You’re not under arrest,” Byron points out. “They have no real way to hold you here.”

“You did go back to Boston,” Ella adds. “Although Byron, I really don’t understand the rush to pack her off. She’s worked hard on this project, of course she wants to enjoy her moment in the sun. It’s exciting! If she’s a good candidate for this fellowship, Iceland will still be there next year.”

“I can’t abandon Ezra to Jillian,” Aria says firmly. “She’ll eat him alive! We’ve got a book tour to schedule, media appearances, edits to approve, cover designs to review - he needs me.”

“But you shouldn’t tie yourself down!” Byron protests. “You’re young! Now is the perfect time to make a leap! Surprise yourself! Go in a new direction! Promise me you’ll think about it!”

“Okay,” Aria says slowly, giving him a raised eyebrow and frown. “I guess I can think about it.”

“That’s great!” Her father enthuses, bending down to give her a hug. He bustles out of the room, so distracted that he leaves the water running in the sink. He locks himself in the bathroom, goes immediately to the sink and splashes cold water on his face. He takes several deep breaths, as if he’s trying to get himself under control, ward off a panic attack.

He pulls the envelope out of his pocket and stares at it, his face drawn and white as a flop sweat beads on his forehead. His hands are shaking as he removes the paper inside for further study. It’s the picture of Aria with the pink streaks in her hair, the message FAMILY MATTERS scrawled across her face.

“No,” he says, staring at his reflection in the mirror. “This isn’t happening.”


	6. Commitment

Emily is sitting in her car outside the white walled expanse of the Springhill Mental Health and Wellness Center. If she squints, it looks almost like the Rosewood Country Club. She half expects to see Spencer and Melissa playing a cutthroat tennis match.

She signs in at the front desk, a duffel bag stuffed with Alison’s clothes slung over her shoulder. Her mind is on Hanna and Caleb and Spencer, how brittle Spencer sounded on the phone. She feels completely awful for Spencer. But she can’t judge Hanna too harshly, considering the shape she was in last night. And, she admits silently, it would be hypocritical, given how tempted she was to kiss Alison when she found her in the church. Alison still has it, that old gravitational pull on Emily’s heart.

She’s so distracted that she doesn’t see Dr. Rollins until she literally bumps into him in the hallway leading to Ali’s room.

“Emily,” he says with a smile. A smile that feels a little strange, considering the circumstances. But everything about him seems strange, now that she’s seen the picture of him with Charlotte. “I’m afraid Alison is still asleep. This ordeal with Charlotte has left her mentally drained and emotionally exhausted. It’s no wonder she had a breakdown, really.”

“Of course,” Emily nods. “I’m sure this is all a shock for you, so soon after your honeymoon.” Although, he’s a psychiatrist, she thinks. Surely he should have recognized the signs. “I brought her some clothes,” she continues, motioning towards the bag. 

“That’s very thoughtful,” he replies. “And I’m sure she’d appreciate it. But she has everything she needs here. I’ve seen to that.” He puts a hand on Emily’s shoulder, steering her back towards the door, and something in his voice makes her flesh crawl. “Alison is my wife. It’s my job to take care of her now.”

“I promised to come back and see her this morning,” Emily says. “She wanted me to be here.”

“This isn’t about what Alison wants,” he explains smoothly. “This is about what’s best for her.” He turns and stares at Emily with an expression on his face that seems almost amused underneath his mask of solemnity. “I understand, of course, that when it comes to Alison - you and I _want the same thing, Emily_.” His words hang in the air as Emily stares him down.

“All I want is for Alison to get better,” she responds.

“Exactly,” Elliott grins, like a shark flashing its teeth. “Whatever did you think I meant?”

Emily gives him a disgusted look, and walks back out to the lobby, where she ducks into the bathroom until she hears the nurse at the desk go on break. She sneaks behind the desk and looks up Elliott’s pager number from the posted staff list and dials it hurriedly from the receptionist line. 

Then she darts quickly back down the hallway towards Alison’s room, flattening herself nervously against the wall as a nurse wearing a surgical mask comes out and walks quickly down the hall in the opposite direction. She pokes her head in the door to make sure the coast is clear, then rushes inside to find Alison wide awake and looking extremely happy to see her.

“Emily!” Alison says, standing up to give her a warm hug. A hug that lasts longer than their goodbye hug did last night, when Alison clutched her so tightly that it actually hurt to let her go. 

“I saw Elliott,” Emily says, her arms still around Alison. “He didn’t want to let me see you. We might not have much time.”

“Right,” Alison says, giving Emily a final squeeze that pushes their bodies even closer together before she moves away. “So what did you bring me?”

“Some clothes,” Emily says, unzipping the bag. “And some questions. Do you know if your mom had a twin sister?”

Alison shakes her head, piling the clothes on the bed. “My mom? No. Although my grandma used to tell some pretty freaky stories about twins.” She sighs, considering the possibilities. “I’d like to say there’s no way she wouldn’t have told me something like that, but after finding out about Charlotte - I can’t be sure of anything anymore. Why?”

“We have a lot of new information,” Emily says, conscious of Alison’s delicate mental state. “We’re still trying to figure out how everything ties together. But whoever is behind this - they’re using masks. Rubber or plastic or whatever they use in the movies, they’re really lifelike.” She pulls the Hanna mask out from under a pair of jeans. “I don’t think you were hallucinating. I think someone wanted to make you think you were going crazy.”

Alison puts a hand against Emily’s cheek. “Of course I wasn’t hallucinating.”

“Wait,” Emily says, confused. “You knew someone was messing with you? Then why did you make me bring you here? Why did you sign yourself into a psych ward?”

But Alison isn’t interested in answering questions, she’s interested in lifting up her mattress and revealing the hidden visitor logs and stolen files. She grabs the entire stack and starts stuffing the materials into Emily’s bag.

“There’s more,” Emily finally continues. “We found a picture.” She pulls out the folded print of Charlotte and Rollins from a side pocket of the bag. “You might not like it.”

Alison unfolds the photograph, her face immobile. She traces Charlotte’s silhouette with the tip of her finger. “Thank you for showing me this.”

“That’s it?” Emily says, frustrated. “Ali, your husband was involved with your sister - his patient!”

“I know,” Alison replies calmly. “He’s in on it. He was the one pretending to be Wilden.”

“Alison!” Emily says, putting her hands on Ali’s shoulders and forcing her to meet her eyes. “This is not the time to keep us in the dark about your plan.”

“Em, if I’d told you that I wanted to commit myself, so that I could get access to these files and try to find out what my duplicitous creep of a husband is up to, you never would have let me go through with it.” 

“You’re right,” Emily agrees, practically beside herself. “Because it’s a terrible plan! He can lock you up and throw away the key!”

“Better that than pushing me down every staircase in Pennsylvania,” Alison shrugs. “And this way, I might actually get some answers.”

“He could medicate you into a coma, Ali! We have to get you out of here!”

“Trust me,” Alison insists. “I’ve got it under control. I’m working with someone on the inside.”

“Who? Noel Kahn in a white lab coat, playing doctor? This is insane!”

“Noel is in Europe,” Ali smiles. “Playing electric guitar in some terrible krautrock band.” She takes Emily’s hand gently. “I’ll tell you everything when this is all over, I promise. For now - I need to find out who my sister was. And what Elliott’s endgame is. This is the only place I can do that. Please try and understand.”

Emily feels herself relenting. “I still don’t like it,” she says, grimly. She takes a deep breath before she continues. “What do you need me to do with the files?” 

Alison beams. “Take them to Spencer. She needs to see what’s in there.”

“Spencer isn’t really at the top of her game right now,” Emily hedges. “There’s some drama going on with Hanna and Caleb.”

“A love triangle,” Alison muses. “Poor Spence.”

“It’s not even a triangle,” Emily grumbles. “Between Toby making puppy dog eyes at Spencer while he’s practically engaged to Yvonne, and Spencer dating Caleb, who’s kissing Hanna even though she’s about to marry Jordan, and Lucas like, getting shot trying to score a spot on her waiting list - when you throw in Aria hooking up with Ezra even though she hasn’t broken it off with Liam - our lives are in danger, and everyone’s tangled up in some giant love octagon.”

Alison smirks. “All that heterosexuality really grosses you out, doesn’t it?”

Emily tries to fight back a smile.

“Listen, Spencer is still Spencer. And if she’s working through a broken heart, she’ll be sleuthing twice as hard as usual,” Alison assures her. “Give her the files. She’ll know what to do.”

“Are you sure you can’t come with me?” Emily pleads. “You don’t have to go back to Rollins, we can get you an annulment, we can go to the police!”

“And tell them what?” Alison asks, sounding exasperated. “We don’t have enough evidence of anything yet. We need to see how this plays out.” 

“I don’t want to leave you here.”

“I know.” Alison hesitates for a moment, as if she’s not certain whether to continue. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I know how worried you must have been. I saw it on your face in the church. And I thought, maybe, I saw something else, too. Something...I haven’t seen in a long time.” She locks eyes with Emily and slowly closes the distance between them. 

“I was lying about the hallucinations, Emily. But I meant what I said about loving you.” She brushes her lips against Emily’s ear. “I want to kiss you right now, but I wouldn’t trust myself to stop.”

Emily swallows hard, feeling keyed up in all the old ways, as if Alison permanently burned the pathways of this specific kind of longing into her brain all those years ago, can still light them up like a runway without half trying. She steps back and takes a shaky breath. “Ali, we can’t.”

“We can’t right now,” Alison counters, her hand warm against Emily’s own. “But now isn’t forever.”

“Alison,” Emily says firmly. “We’re not fourteen anymore. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do to help you, okay? But please - don’t do this, don’t keep paying me in empty promises about the future. I’ve heard it before - we’re going to run away to Paris, we’re going to be a family! It’s never true! And it hurts me! Every time!”

Alison’s face is infuriatingly calm, as if she’s working from a place where she doesn’t need to deflect Emily’s words or absorb her anger. She takes a moment before she responds, “Are you happy?”

“Do I look happy?” Emily asks, incredulously.

“Not right now. But were you? Before you came back? When you were tending bar and making out with bicurious beach bunnies every night? Because I’ve never been as happy with anyone as I am when I’m with you.” She rests a hand on Emily’s chest, over her heart. “This thing between us, we’ve been running away from it for so long. I’m tired of running. I want to see where it can take us, if we give it a try.”

Emily picks up the bag, heavy with documents, and holds it close to her chest. “I want to believe you,” she tells Alison, sadly. “I always do.” She gives her a stiff one-armed hug and moves to the door. “I’ll come back tomorrow, let you know if we find anything.”

“Think about it,” Alison insists.

Emily looks at her, sees what looks like hopefulness and sincerity in her eyes. It makes her look younger, Emily thinks. That or her feelings are telescoping through time, looking at the Alison she fell in love with back when things were simple. “I will,” she promises. She takes another long look at Alison, then finally steels herself to walk out the door.

The air outside smells fresher than it did thirty minutes ago. The sun in streaming into her car as she tosses the bag of files onto the passenger seat, drums her fingers against the steering wheel as she tries to decompress.

\------

A shadow moves in front of a window inside the building. Dr. Rollins is peering at her through the blinds and scowling. He strides quickly towards the reception area. 

“I’m restricting the visitation protocol for my wife,” he announces. “She isn’t to be disturbed, do you understand? Effective immediately. No visitors.” 

\--------

A nurse slips into Alison’s room with the medication cart. She rips the surgical mask off her face, struggling to disentangle it from her hair.

“That was a touching scene,” the nurse says, handing Alison a small cup of pills. “Did you mean any of it?”

Alison goes through the motions of taking the pills, just in case they’re being observed, palming them carefully as she pretends to put them in her mouth.

“I asked you to come here because I needed help, not advice about my love life.”

“Funny, I don’t _actually_ remember you asking. It sounded more like an ultimatum to me.”

“Let’s not pretend you don’t owe me,” Alison sneers, her eyes flashing. “I risked my life to put you in touch with the right people.”

“Mmmm,” the nurse says, unimpressed. “Don’t get carried away by all your good deeds now, Mrs. Rollins. You wanted me out of the way.”

“My motives have nothing to do with it. I saved your life.”

“I know. And I’m here to make it even. I haven’t forgotten what you did for me. Or what you took away.” 

“You don’t have to like me,” Alison says, coldly. “But you do have to see this through.”

“Speaking of seeing,” the nurse says, casually letting Alison slip the pills back into the pocket of her lab coat. “Emily caught a glimpse of me in the hallway.”

Alison’s mouth tightens. “Don’t let it happen again.”

“We wouldn’t want that, would we?” The nurse pushes the pill cart towards the door to continue with her rounds. “That poor sweet girl. She would _never_ trust you again.”


	7. How Many Stalkers Can One Girl Have

“There!” Mona exclaims, having wrapped a peacock print scarf so that it covers the worst of the bruise on Hanna’s forehead. “Gorgeous, with an air of stylish mystery.”

“I should start my own magazine,” Hanna suggests, flipping through an old issue of Vogue. “Have articles like, ‘Ten Cute Outfits That Won’t Show Bloodstains!’ and ‘Does this Head Wound Make Me Look Fat?’”

“I know you’re joking,” Mona tells her, “but I would _totally_ subscribe.”

There’s a knock on the doorframe, and they both turn to see Caleb standing there with an uncertain look on his face.

“I’ll just give you two some privacy,” Mona offers, hopping off the bed. “I’ll go find your mom, or at least some new magazines.” She brushes past Caleb with a withering look. “I’ll be back in ten. If you lose her again, I swear they will never find your body.” She adjusts her purse strap and waves brightly. “Have fun!”

Caleb pulls a chair over to Hanna’s bedside and tentatively puts his hand over hers. Hanna stares at his long thin fingers dwarfing her own, then gently moves her hand away, folding it under the thin hospital blanket.

He looks stricken, like he’s been slapped. But he doesn’t protest.

“I found something,” he announces, pulling the iPad from the loft out of his bag. “I didn’t think it could wait.”

“If it’s that important,” Hanna replies, “we should call the others. We should get Spencer.”

“Spencer,” Caleb says, running a hand through his hair, “Isn’t speaking to me.”

“I’m sorry,” Hanna says. “I shouldn’t have dumped all that on you.”

“Don’t apologize,” Caleb replies. “I’m the one who should be sorry. I never should have taken off like that, I left my phone behind because I wanted to hurt you. But I spent the next week hoping you were going to show up and surprise me after all.”

“I couldn’t,” Hanna says. “I had to be in Miami.”

“I’m not having this fight again,” Caleb says, rubbing his temples. “But after last night, what you said, all that running back in the rain -”

“I wanted to feel like everything could have been different,” Hanna explains. “Everything! Like, my life could have been something else - something that wouldn’t have ended with me as the worm on a fish hook.”

“It can be different,” Caleb insists, taking her hand again. “Hanna, we can be different. We can do better this time. If I had still been there when you got back to the apartment -”

“We would have had make up sex and then spent a miserable three weeks in Europe, with me trying to organize a runway show from a different time zone and arguing because you wanted to go to the third art museum of the day and I wanted to hit the shops. I ran through the rain because I loved you, and I didn’t want to lose you. But you and I were on borrowed time. We just couldn’t admit it.”

“But last night - you said you never stopped loving me!”

“I know,” Hanna nods. “I just - I wanted to feel something besides scared out of my mind, okay? And I do love you! But love wasn’t enough to stop us from growing apart.”

“None of that matters now,” Caleb says, a pleading note in his voice. “We were happy once. We can be happy again!”

“After this is over?” Hanna asks. “Back in New York? You would be my escort to a white party without spending the whole night camped out on a bar stool looking constipated?”

“No, but I could wait for you at home. I could stay up late reading. Have a large pizza with extra cheese waiting on the table when you got home, because there’s only ever fancy snails on toothpicks for food at those things.”

Hanna chuckles, and squeezes his hand before letting go. “And if I’m talking to my friends about the difference between the kind of bag you want in Ibiza and the kind of bag you want in Paris, you wouldn’t roll your eyes? You wouldn’t call my coworkers the wrong names on purpose?”

“Those people, Hanna - they’re all so self-important. They act like everything they do is life and death. And it’s not. It’s frivolous and shallow. But if it’s what you want to do with your life - then I can tolerate them. If I have to.”

“I don’t want you to tolerate me,” Hanna says, sadly. “Or my world. I want to share my life with someone, not just my bed.”

“Are you going to marry Jordan?”

“Honestly? I don’t know.”

“I was happy. When Spencer told me about the two of you. I thought, at least he’s -”

“Caleb,” Hanna interrupts. “Please. I don’t want this to get ugly.” 

His face reddens, but he nods. “Spencer’s never going to speak to me again, is she?”

“Well,” Hanna says, “next time I go missing, you can look for me in that shallow grave next to the Hastings azaleas. I’d totally deserve it, too.”

“She told me she loved me yesterday.”

Hanna is silent, as the weight of his words sink in. When she does speak again, her voice is wobbly with tears.

“When we were in ninth grade, my parents were fighting all the time. Huge shouting matches that would go on all night long. I was falling asleep in all my classes, ignoring most of my homework. We had this project to do for history, we were supposed to make a stupid diorama of what life was like in Pennsylvania for the Iroquois. So I blew it off, I didn’t do it. And when I walked into class empty-handed, Mr. Hennis said ‘Ms. Marin, if you don’t have a diorama, you will fail this class. What do you think your parents will say about that?’ And I - I just burst into tears. Until I heard Spencer pipe up and say that my project was already on display over by the windows. While I was sobbing, she grabbed a sticker and copied my handwriting and put it on her totally perfect and elaborate diorama that she’d been working on for weeks. She got a zero on that project, and I got an A+. I scraped by with a C- for the class, but Spencer’s grade fell all the way down to a B+. Her parents grounded her for two months. She almost blew her chance at being valedictorian.”

“She’s my best friend. She loved you. And I ruined it for her.” She blinks hard. “You should go.”

“Wait,” Caleb says. “I really did have something important to show you. I wasn’t lying about that, I just got distracted.”

“What is it?” Hanna asks curiously, wiping her eyes.

“Lucas has been keeping tabs on you. Close tabs.”

“Like he’s following my Instagram?”

“Like he’s following your every move. He must have known something was up when you asked him to be your fake alibi. I don’t know what his intentions were, but since he told us to check the iPad, I think he was probably trying to protect you. Except it backfired.”

“By putting him smack in the line of fire.”

“No,” Caleb says, shaking his head. “It looks like he got hacked. When ‘A’ got into the system to try and charbroil Aria, it looks like they accessed all of his other data, too. Everything that you said. Every plan that you made. They may have cloned his device, even, so that they could still listen in after he tried to reset the system. That’s probably how they knew that you were going to be in that motel room.” 

“This sounds like a very stalkery form of protection,” Hanna opines, folding her arms across her chest. “He was listening to everything that happened in the loft? _Everything?_ ”

“We’d have to ask him, I guess,” Caleb shrugs. “I tried to get in to see him before I came here, but it’s ICU, they wouldn’t let anyone in except family.”

“I guess I’ll wait for him to get better before I kill him,” Hanna mutters ominously.

“I’m not saying it wasn’t shady,” Caleb argues. “But it might help us. He had a bunch of cameras on the church last night. He must have known something was going down.”

“So we have a picture of ‘A’? Dragging the mannequin inside?”

“Not exactly,” Caleb says, pulling up a video that looks to have been taken by a drone. “See the shadow in the belltower there? The dummy must have been in place ahead of time. It’s hard to say, but I’m guessing that when ‘A’ went down the bell rope, the motion of the bell sent the mannequin tumbling to the ground.”

“So who put it there? Who stuffed my phone in its pocket?”

“I’m not sure,” Caleb admits. “The cameras don’t catch anyone who looks out of place until after Lucas goes in.” He freezes the video as a black sedan speeds into view.

“Do you recognize this car?”

“No,” Hanna says. “Are you saying ‘A’ uses Uber?”

“This car has been following you, Hanna. For days. Lucas has video of it following you all over town. Every time you left the loft, practically. You never noticed it?”

Hanna frowns. “No. But doesn’t that mean it was probably whoever Lucas hired to watch me? How many stalkers can one girl have?”

“Whoever it is, they’re not with Lucas,” Caleb says grimly.

“How do you know?”

Caleb starts to play the video again. “Because they’re the ones who shot him.”

Hanna watches armed men burst out of the sedan, entering the church from the back moments before Spencer’s car screeches to a halt out front. Caleb freezes it as the mannequin starts to fall from the tower, switching to slow motion as the flashes of gunfire light up the windows.

Hanna sees Toby calling it in, pulling his gun and heading to the front door. Three men in suits burst out the rear of the church in a dead run seconds before he and Spencer go in.

“Wait a minute,” Hanna orders, sitting up. “Can you play that back again? Right when they’re getting in the car?”

Caleb replays the video, slowing it down even further and zooming in.

Hanna asks him to freeze it on a shot of the driver, sticking his gun back in his holster as he flings the car door open. Her face goes white.

“What is it?” Caleb asks. “Have you seen this guy before? Do you recognize him?”

“I’ve seen him hundreds of times,” Hanna says, horrified. “That’s Jordan’s driver.”


	8. The Tale of the Tape

Emily knocks politely on the door of the barn, then pushes the door open when Spencer makes no move to answer.

There are three empty wine bottles in the kitchen trash, but Spencer herself looks neatly pressed. Her khakis are sharply creased, her red cardigan is fixed in place with a gold chain that glitters against her white silk blouse. There aren’t tear lines cutting through her make up, and not a hair is out of place on her head. The effect, Emily thinks, isn’t so much comforting as it is frightening. She looks like her Mom, like Melissa, like whatever Hastings ancestors came over on the Mayflower with their spines made of steel and their money pressed firmly into stiff upper lips. 

She has earbuds in and is staring intently at Hanna’s interrogation video on her computer screen, making detailed notes as she studies the polygraph print out. The barn has been swept clean of any sign of Caleb, there’s a paper grocery bag stuffed with a pair of boxer shorts and a beanie sitting out on the doorstep, wilting sadly in the light drizzly rain. The blonde mannequin that is not Hanna is propped into a seat across from Spencer, as if they’ve been having a conversation, sharing secrets and girl talk. Emily notices the dummy’s stomach is a little more dented than it was last night, as if Spencer might have dropped her unruffled facade long enough to take out some serious aggression.

Emily walks tentatively towards her, putting a hand on Spencer’s shoulder gently, as if she’s approaching a wounded animal.

Spencer looks up, her face a warring mixture of fury and hope, until she realizes that her visitor is Emily. She blinks rapidly a few times, smoothing her expression back to poised and unperturbed. But it’s too late. Emily understands she’s walked into an elaborately constructed stage show, designed for Caleb and his apology, both of which are absent.

“Would a bag full of stolen medical files cheer you up?” Emily asks, raising her eyebrows. “It turns out Alison is working a long game.”

Spencer doesn’t respond to the news about Alison. Maybe it’s what she’d expected all along, or maybe she doesn’t have any emotion to spare at the moment. But she motions for Emily to set the bag down.

“Let me guess,” Spencer monotones. “She’s never heard of Mary Drake.”

“Her mom never mentioned her.”

“Right. What’s one more rotten branch on their family tree?”

“It’s not Ali’s fault. You don’t get to choose your family.”

“But you do choose your friends. She chose us, and now here we are.”

“I don’t think Alison is the one you’re mad at right now,” Emily suggests. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Processing is a luxury,” Spencer says sharply. “I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to hear about whatever self-care Oprah is pedaling this month. I want to solve this thing. I want to go stay at least a hundred miles away from Rosewood for another five years.” She pauses and closes her eyes, puts a hand to her temple.

“I want them,” she says quietly, “to be the kind of people who would never have done this.”

Emily nods, her face scrunched with concern. “I get it. I do. But maybe you should talk to Hanna. Before we all meet up for the sleuthing update tonight.”

“I have _nothing_ to say to Hanna. I’m glad she’s okay. But she doesn’t get to have my boyfriend and my blessing.” Spencer’s nostrils flare, her eyes look dangerously wet. “Do you know how much time I wasted feeling guilty? Torturing myself over my feelings for him, worrying I was being a bad friend to Hanna? I _waited_. I asked her first. She was supposed to marry someone else!”

“I know,” Emily says, soothingly. “And I’m not defending what they did. There’s no excuse in the world that could make it okay. But they were in love for a long time. And love isn’t always neat and tidy hospital corners. It’s messy and complicated and incredibly hard.”

Spencer looks at her closely. “Are we still talking about Hanna and Caleb here?”

“Of course,” Emily nods, feeling her cheeks redden as Spencer arches a suspicious eyebrow in her direction. “I’m just saying, whatever happens with Caleb--you and Hanna made it through high school together. She’s one of four people in the world who’ll never need you to explain anything about what the Dollhouse did to you, because she lived through it too. And - it’s Hanna. She’s rash and impulsive and sometimes she makes really bad choices. But she has a good heart.”

“That’s what kills me!” Spencer replies. “She has a good heart and traitorous fucking lips. She’s not even in love with him anymore!”

“Because she’s engaged?” Emily asks. “I don’t think -”

“No,” Spencer says. “Because of this.” She hands Emily the polygraph print out, on which she’s carefully broken down the questions and answers, Hanna’s statements coinciding with the scratches of truths and lies across the paper. 

“Here,” she says, pointing to the questions about Caleb.

“Why was ‘A’ even asking her that?” Emily wonders, as her eyes scan the rise and fall of the pattern. “Wait,” she says suddenly. “Is that what it looks like when she’s telling the truth?”

Spencer nods, tracing the line with her finger. “Everything reads high - she was clearly terrified. But it’s the same line both times. Before the truth serum and after. Same line as when she copped to erasing the security footage.”

“That’s not all she copped to,” Emily says, pointing to the identical line on another part of the paper. 

“You’re right,” Spencer declares, her eyes wide. “I need to talk to Hanna.”

\---------

Hanna stands in the middle of the loft with her suitcase open as she tries to stuff a nearby pile of clothes and shoes inside. She still has a hospital ID bracelet around her wrist, and is patently ignoring the doctor’s instructions to take it easy.

She pauses in her packing to tear off a handful of refrigerated cookie dough from a tub on the counter. She checks her phone to see if there’s been any response to the five calls and seven texts she’s sent Jordan. Or the three apologies she’s left on Spencer’s voicemail. Nothing. No new messages.

Caleb left the hospital with the intention of finding Toby, to fill him in on the possible lead. Her mom went back to work to personally oversee a massive wedding reception. Mona volunteered to pick up the prescription for Hanna’s painkillers from the drugstore. She’s kind of grateful for the peace and quiet, a tiny patch of breathing space before she has to deal with the latest disaster. She wonders what Spencer did with the polygraph machine, whether she could hook herself back up to it and interrogate her heart until she figures out exactly what it is she wants. 

A thunderous pounding at the loft door interrupts her train of thought. She throws it open, bracing against the wrath of Spencer, only to find Jordan standing there instead, a rakish grin plastered across his face.

“Hanna!” he cries, his accent full of affection. He doesn’t bother to close the door before he pulls her into a hug. Hanna stands still, not returning the embrace, though he does his best not to notice. “I was on a conference call with China the entire flight in. I couldn’t shut it down early, my off the cuff Mandarin is too appalling.”

“We need to talk,” Hanna tells him.

“And you’re packing,” he says, delighted. “Thank God! We can be in New York in time for a late dinner at Masa.”

“I’m not going to Masa.”

“Fine, fine. We’ll hit the Shake Shack in Grand Central. I’ll order a dozen cheeseburgers and three black and white shakes and pretend they’re all for me.”

“I don’t want a milkshake. I want to know how long you’ve been having me followed.”

He runs a hand through his hair, his grin dissolving.

“How long, Jordan?”

“It’s for your own good,” he says. “You weren’t back in Rosewood three days before you were wrapped up in a murder investigation! You’ve been hiding your phone, deleting security footage, acting spooked at the slightest noises. I’m not stupid, Hanna. You’re going to be my wife. I needed to make sure you were protected.”

“By having a passel of armed thugs dogging my footsteps? I told you what happened, Jordan! I was stalked! Constantly! For two years! And now you’re paying your staff to do the exact same thing!”

“It’s hardly the same -” Jordan protests.

“You don’t get to tell me how this feels,” Hanna says, angrily. 

“It was a necessary evil! Can you seriously pretend it wasn’t warranted? You were kidnapped less than 24 hours ago!”

“And your goons didn’t stop that from happening, did they? All they did was shoot Lucas!”

“No one regrets that more than I do,” Jordan says, frowning. “But you can’t blame them for assuming he was the kidnapper. They were tracking your phone. He was in the church. We didn’t know about the money.”

“What money? What are you talking about?”

Jordan looks at her in disbelief. “Hanna, he was there to try and pay a half-million dollar ransom for you.”


	9. Making Up is Hard to Do

Hanna sits heavily on the couch. “A half a million dollars? Lucas was going to pay a half a million dollars? For me?”

“He did pay. We believe he walked into the church with the money in a briefcase. He must have made the exchange moments before our team arrived.”

“Why would they even ask Lucas? Why wouldn’t they ask you?”

He has the good grace to look ashamed.

“Oh my god. You refused to pay them?”

“You can’t negotiate with these kinds of people! If I bought your freedom with $500,000, every criminal in the world would be lining up to snatch you in hopes of an easy pay day! Gottesman is an amateur. An amateur who was oddly willing to part with large sums of cash on your behalf.”

“What are you trying to say? You think I’m sleeping with Lucas?”

“You’re living in his loft. You’re driving his Jag. He’s buying warehouses for your future fashion line. And he’s liquidating stock options to make a deal with your captors! Do you think I don’t know about your cold feet? Do you think I care about your dalliances? We’re worldly people, Hanna! I don’t care how many schoolgirl crushes you want to revisit, alright? These people are your past. I am your future!”

“You’re not,” Hanna says, feeling the words leave her mouth like a bullet. A clean shot of decision to put that version of the future out of its misery. 

“What?” Jordan says, sounding legitimately stunned.

“I can’t marry you.”

“But Hanna,” he pleads. “We’re good together! We walk into parties and people turn to stare. Remember the first time we made Page Six? That blind item about the fashion world’s newest power couple getting handsy at the Bryant Park skating rink? You’re confused! You’re upset! Let’s not make any decisions just yet.”

“I was confused. You came into my life at a time when I was trying to figure things out, and you - Jordan, you were so perfect. It seemed like a fairy tale. But it wasn’t real.”

“It was real enough,” Jordan says, a bitter note in his voice. “When my doorman was carrying your bags up to my penthouse. When you were flying off to Cabo in my private jet. When doors started opening for you all over Manhattan - I never heard you complain!”

“Marriage isn’t about money and status. It’s about two people who love each other.”

“You did say this was a fairy tale,” Jordan mutters. “Fine! I love you, Hanna! I want to spend the rest of my life being your Prince Charming. Let me be your white knight and carry you away from this ridiculous town before you convince yourself that you’re serious.”

“Maybe I’m not looking for a prince,” Hanna tells him, sadly. “I need a partner. I don’t want to be the damsel in distress anymore. And I am serious, Jordan. It’s over.” 

“Nonsense,” he replies. “We have a date set. A venue. Invitations at the engraver’s.”

“I’m sorry. I really am. I honestly never meant for it to turn out this way.”

“No,” Jordan responds. “You never mean for anything to happen, do you? Swanning around, flashing that gorgeous smile, batting your eyelashes and _eating up_ all the attention. Don’t pretend it’s not on purpose, Hanna. You’re nothing but a selfish bitch who wants the whole world to fall in love with her.”

“That is not fair!”

“You don’t care who you hurt, do you? You steal hearts like it’s a game - like you’re still shoplifting from downmarket boutiques! Trying on anything that might suit you and then waltzing out without ever having to pay the price!”

“You should go,” Hanna says, her voice on the edge of tears. “Go back to New York.”

“Cry all you want,” Jordan says, his voice so loud it echoes off the industrial walls. “It’s the truth! And it’s not because of the divorce or the threatening text messages or how you just can’t believe anyone would care about Hefty Hanna! It’s who you are! Careless of anyone’s feelings but your own! Shrugging off consequences like last season’s rain coat! You’re worse than a gold digger! Worse than a fame whore! You’re an absolute wreck of a person who just goes around sucking up love indiscriminately, cutting your teeth on the heart of anyone stupid enough to really care for you! You are a shallow, narcissistic little girl, incapable of loving anyone but yourself!”

“That’s _enough_.” A ringing voice declares from the doorway. It sounds like Veronica Hastings badgering a witness, but it’s Spencer standing there with her arms folded and an expression of cold fury on her face. “You need to leave. Now.”

“Or what?” Jordan says dismissively. “I’ll be set upon by the Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants?”

“Or Page Six will be printing a not-so-blind item about the Hobart scion with anger management issues,” Spencer counters, holding up her cell phone. “You know Radar Online would be salivating over the love triangle. ‘Hobart’s Hit on Romantic Rival!’ The headline just writes itself, don’t you think?” 

“You’re done in New York,” he tells Hanna as he stalks angrily towards the door. “I hope you spend the rest of your life rotting in this godforsaken town, thinking about this moment. Because the best thing that ever happened to you is about to walk out and never come back!” He pauses dramatically, as if waiting for Hanna to fling herself into his arms and beg him to stay.

“Go,” Hanna says instead.

He leaves, slamming the door with enough force that it rattles on its hinges.

Hanna stands there, staring wordlessly at Spencer.

“I don’t know why he’s so mad,” Spencer says, finally breaking the silence. “It’s not like you kissed his boyfriend.”

Hanna makes a noise that starts as a laugh and ends as a sob, and then Spencer is hugging her and shushing her tearful attempts to apologize. “You should be the one yelling at me,” Hanna says. “You should be storming around and throwing your shoes at my head!”

“I had three different angry speeches I was working on in the car on the way over here,” Spencer admits, rubbing small circles on Hanna’s back. “I couldn’t decide whether I was going to call you an inveigling Jezebel or Judas in Jungle Red lipstick.”

“Go ahead,” Hanna sniffs. “I deserve it! It was a huge mistake, Spencer. It was about me being scared, and Caleb being there, and - Jordan was right when he called me careless! You’re my best friend, and I feel sick when I think about what I did to you.”

“Are you sure you’re not feeling sick because you ate half a pound of cookie dough?” Spencer asks. “Anyway, it’s one thing for me to want to go all Jersey Shore on you. That doesn’t mean Jordan gets to.”

“He’s having a bad day,” Hanna shrugs. “He’s never been rejected before.”

“His day’s about to get worse,” Spencer chuckles grimly. “He’s might have to walk back to New York. Tanner was arresting his driver when I pulled up outside. Apparently, they got an anonymous tip that included video footage of him fleeing the church with a smoking gun.”

“Caleb?” Hanna asks, hesitantly.

“Probably. I haven’t talked to him.”

“I know this doesn’t make it any better,” Hanna says. “But I swear it didn’t mean anything.”

“For you,” Spencer replies, darkly. “But even before ‘A’ sent that text, the way he was acting when you were missing - he still has feelings for you. And that would have been true, even if your lips had stayed away from each other.” 

“As they should have!” Hanna stresses. “Far, far away.” She takes Spencer’s hand. “I’m really sorry, Spence.”

“I know,” Spencer nods. “And I might still want to take a rain check on the yelling.”

“Understood,” Hanna agrees with a smile. “I can’t believe you came storming over here to tell me off and wound up comforting me.”

“That’s not why I came, actually.”

“Did you want some cookie dough?”

“No,” Spencer says, a serious look on her face. “I came to find out where you went, Hanna. Where did you go when you left the hotel?”


	10. What You Don't Know Can Hurt You

“I’m still going over the details of the bulletin board and the files from Alison,” Spencer announces. “But we know a lot more than we did yesterday.”

“Like where Hanna is,” Aria says helpfully, munching a handful of popcorn as she motions to Hanna and her suitcases, both of which have temporarily moved into the barn.

“And how ‘A’ knew about our plan, thanks to Lucas and his high tech loft surveillance. And that ‘A’ has lifelike masks in their toolbox this time around,” Emily adds. “Whoever took Hanna was wearing one. I tore the cheek, but it didn’t come off.”

“It must have been someone we know, though,” Hanna says, thinking out loud. “Otherwise, why bother disguising their voice?”

“Whoever it was, the kidnapper in the tunnel wasn’t capital ‘A’,” Mona suggests from her seat next to Hanna on the couch. “If Lucas walked into that church with half a million dollars, that’s not a pay day you send a minion to pick up.”

“You would know,” Caleb mutters under his breath, earning a glacial look from Spencer.

“Mona’s right,” Spencer says, frowning. “Charlotte always had Carissimi to bankroll her operation. Whoever we’re dealing with now, they’re actively trying to raise cash.”

“Do we think this is Rollins and Mary Drake?” Aria asks. “I mean, they’re on the bad guy list, right?”

“I think Ali was right about Elliott being the one in the Wilden mask,” Emily replies. “I checked with the airlines, and there’s no record of him flying to Chicago. He had a hotel room booked, but he never checked in.”

“He’d probably know all about truth serum,” Spencer agrees. “He’s a psychiatrist, after all.”

“I don’t know,” Emily says. “I can’t see him donning a blonde wig and pushing Hanna through the sewers in a wheelbarrow. Plus, I saw him today, and his face looked fine. Whoever was down there, I must have at least scratched them.”

“So this is somebody else?” Hanna groans. “Or two somebodies? What is wrong with this town?!?”

“We do need to keep a close eye on Rollins.” Spencer orders. “He’s our best shot at finding Mary Drake, if they’re working together. And we need to keep a close eye on Aria, since she’s probably jumped to the top of their hit list right now.”

“If it’s Sara Harvey, I can take her,” Aria assures them. “Why should Emily be the only one who gets to punch her in the face?”

“Don’t get cocky,” Hanna says, munching on a cheese poof. “You do not want this bitch to grab you. I thought I was toast until Em showed up and went all Xena on her ass.”

“We’ll meet back here tomorrow morning, come up with a plan of attack,” Spencer declares. “Until then, we’re officially on the buddy system.”

“Well, buddies,” Mona says, beaming. “Shall we?”

“Can you run me back to my mom’s?” Hanna asks. “I have a few things over there I want to pick up.”

“Your chariot awaits,” Mona declares, brightly.

The girls gather purses and jackets and head outside, leaving Spencer and Caleb conspicuously alone in the barn.

“So,” Caleb says.

“So,” Spencer replies.

“Seems like you and Hanna made up.”

“We did.”

“That’s good,” Caleb says, not meeting her eyes.

“It is,” Spencer agrees, her tone neutral.

“I honestly didn’t know I still had those feelings,” Caleb says, his voice full of regret. “I thought I was over her. I’m sorry, Spencer.”

“Love isn’t hospital corners,” Spencer replies. “It’s messy. Or so I hear.”

“It is. I’m human, Spencer. I made a mistake.”

“Last night was a mistake,” Spencer agrees. “But what did you do this morning? I’m a Hastings, Caleb. I refuse to be anybody’s second choice. Even yours.”

“Leave your family out of it,” Caleb pleads. “This is about us.”

“There is no us. Not anymore. And my family has everything to do this. I love you, but I won’t let you turn me into my mother.”

\-----------

“Emily!” Ella Montgomery says, delightedly, seeing her trail in the door behind Aria. “Are you girls having a sleepover tonight?”

“Just like old times,” Emily smiles. 

“Of course!” Ella assures her. “This calls for some hot chocolate with extra whipped cream! Aria, go see if your father wants to get in on the sugar action, please.”

Aria and Emily climb the stairs, and Aria leaves Emily unpacking in her room as she heads towards her father’s study. She raises her hand to knock just as the sound of his raised voice reaches her ears. Her hand freezes as she leans closer to the door.

“I’m telling you, it wasn’t a prank! She’s back! She’s behind this! You know what this means!”

There’s a long pause, and as much as Aria strains, she can’t hear so more than a faint drone of the other side of the conversation. Then her father speaks again.

““I don’t know what you did to keep it buried five years ago. Who you bullied or paid off or discredited. But nothing stays a secret forever! Not in Rosewood.”

There’s another pause, and then her father laughs, sounding almost hysterical. “I’m not threatening you! I’m trying to warn you, for godsakes! You know what happened last time! She’ll come for you! She’ll come for your family!”

There’s a loud noise, as if her dad has thrown his phone against the wall in frustration.

“Dad?” Aria calls out, knocking softly on the door. “Is everything okay in there?” She opens the door, noticing sweat stains on her father’s shirt, the fake smile he’s plastering onto his face at the sight of her.

“Fine!” he says, a little too heartily. “Just the latest departmental drama. The quest for tenure in the Art History department is cutthroat this year!”

Aria raises an eyebrow at him, but doesn’t question him any further. “Emily’s sleeping over and Mom’s making hot chocolate. She wanted to know if you wanted any.”

“Of course!” Byron replies, with manufactured enthusiasm. He puts his arm around Aria’s shoulders and steers them both out of the room and toward the stairs. She lets him lead her all the way to the kitchen.

“Dad’s in,” she tells her mom, who comes over and gives Byron a peck on the lips.

“Parental PDA,” Aria grimaces. “I’m just gonna give you two a minute. I’m going to check on Emily, see how she’s settling in.”

She runs as quietly as she can back up the stairs and into her dad’s office. She searches for where the phone might have landed, finding it between the couch and a bookshelf. She holds her breath and types her mom’s birthday as the password, then exhales as the screen unlocks.

She immediately scrolls to her father’s contacts, feels a pang as she sees a dozen unanswered calls to Mike, then quickly redials the number of the mystery caller.

It goes straight to voicemail. 

The voice on the message is smooth and professional.

“You’ve reached Peter Hastings. Please leave a message.”

\----------  
Spencer’s phone rings, loud in the silence of the barn. She’s picking up plates, dumping the remains of the popcorn bowl into the trash. She frowns as she looks at the number, then answers anyway.

Damien’s voice crackles over the line. “I just heard the news. Any chance I can get a comment?”

“That depends,” Spencer says cautiously. “What’s the question?”

“Channel 10,” he says, cryptically.

Spencer flips on the television, then drops the phone in shock.

There’s a breaking news ribbon scrolling across the bottom of the screen.

“VOTE HACKING SCANDAL! HASTINGS VICTORY IN DOUBT AS FORMER CAMPAIGN AIDE CALEB RIVERS TAKEN INTO CUSTODY!”


	11. How it Looks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, huge thanks to Danielle for being a fabulous beta reader! She instinctively knows that creepy-ass should be hyphenated and that iced tea should not be capitalized, as well as knowing everything that has ever happened on PLL backwards and forwards. Props to her!
> 
>  
> 
> \----------------------

“You have to defend him,” Spencer implores her mother. “He didn’t do this!”

“We can’t get anywhere near this,” Peter Hastings insists. “There’s already a news crew in the street reporting that the alleged culprit was arrested as he was leaving our house!”

Spencer ignores him, focusing solely on her mother. “If we don’t stand behind him, everyone will assume it’s because we think he’s guilty. No one will believe you didn’t know.”

“Caleb Rivers is obviously a disturbed and misguided young man,” Veronica responds. “I know you have feelings for him, Spencer - but he’s done more than throw the election results in doubt. If he hacked into those voting machines, all three of us could be watching the next election from adjoining cell blocks!”

“He didn’t do this!” Spencer insists. “He wouldn’t!”

“How does it look?” Peter asks sternly. “The same campaign worker who was fired for leaking that deplorable item about Yvonne Phillips, who had no scruples about hacking into our opponent’s campaign database - is now accused of tampering with the vote count! If the public thinks we knew about it, we look like crooks! If they believe we had no idea, we look like idiots!”

“Is that all you care about?” Spencer asks, scathingly. “The optics? You’re a lawyer, Dad! He’s innocent until proven guilty.”

“He is a petty criminal who wormed his way into your trust. How much do you know about his background? His extensive juvenile record? The car theft ring? The murder investigation?”

“He told me about all of that,” Spencer says, defiantly. “He had a rough life before he came here.”

“And now that rough life is going to come back to haunt us in the press,” Veronica says, rubbing her temples. “Given your personal relationship with him - we can hardly keep your name out of this, Spencer.”

“I don’t care about my name being dragged through the mud. I care about Caleb being in federal custody!”

“Then your priorities are misplaced!” Peter says, harshly. “We need to present a united front, as a family. This is the time for us to circle the wagons, not pin our hopes on your paramour’s unlikely vindication! There were irregularities with the votes! The machines were tampered with! These are the facts. Do you know of anyone else capable of engaging in a cyber crime of this magnitude? Because I’m afraid that my list starts and ends with Caleb Rivers!”

Spencer doesn’t respond, instead she storms out of the room, locking herself in the upstairs bathroom. She pulls her phone out of her pocket and punches hard at the contact information.

“What?!” Mona’s voice snaps, before she corrects herself, slipping smoothly back to her friendly and helpful tone. “Sorry. That was my low blood sugar talking. Hello, Spencer. What can I do for you?”

“Did you do this? Is this another one of your little games?”

“What exactly are you accusing me of this time?” Mona sighs dramatically. “It’s so hard to keep track anymore.”

“The election, Mona! They’re saying the vote was hacked and the FBI thinks they can trace it back to Caleb. He’s been arrested, and the press is going to crucify my entire family if we can’t prove that he didn’t do anything wrong! Did you build some kind of back door when Caleb accessed Yvonne’s phone? Was your eleventh hour conversion to our side just a ruse?”

“Slow down,” Mona says. “I could care less about Caleb being stuck in the slammer, but I’m on your side now, Spencer. Whoever’s behind this, it wasn’t me. I really did want your mother to win.” 

“Well she’s about to be impeached before she even gets sworn in! They’re talking about invalidating the results!”

“One crisis at a time,” Mona replies, calmly. “Your folks are _not_ going to want to go to bat for Caleb. He’s a toxic asset right now. But they can’t throw him under the bus, either, otherwise they’ll look culpable. He’ll need a good lawyer. Call Jason. See if Carissimi has any sharks on the payroll. You should make a brief personal statement to the press - you have complete faith in Caleb Rivers, the justice system, and the integrity of the electoral process, God Bless America - you get the idea.”

“Who died and made you Olivia Pope?” Spencer asks, with grudging respect.

“This is what I do,” Mona assures her. “Now, you go take care things on your end, and I’ll see about tracing the hack.”

“You can do that?” 

“It won’t be easy. You’ll owe me a manicure - all that coding is murder on my nails.”

\-----

Spencer finds Jason in the gymnasium of Rosewood Junior High, where he’s overseeing a pick up basketball game between two rag tag teams of students. 

She stands on the edge of the court, shifting her weight anxiously from one foot to another, feeling like she might jump out of her skin at any moment. Fortunately, her brother catches sight of her and blows his whistle, which seems to be the signal for the kids to pack it in for the night. He exchanges high fives with a couple of them, hands out some Gatorade, then grabs the basketball and heads over to Spencer.

“Hey,” he says, dribbling the ball a few times. He looks sweaty and happy to see her, grinning in a way that makes him look unmistakably like Alison’s brother, too. 

“I need a favor,” Spencer tells him, without preamble. “A lawyer, a good one.”

Jason looks at her sharply, his demeanor serious. “What did you do, Spencer?” 

“It’s not for me, it’s for Caleb Rivers.”

Now Jason looks puzzled. “Hanna’s boyfriend?”

“My boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. It’s complicated.”

“It always is, with you girls,” Jason says. “Some things never change.”

“He got taken into custody earlier tonight,” Spencer explains. “They think he hacked some of the voting machines, that he rigged the election so my mom would win.”

Jason studies her face carefully without answering.

“He didn’t!” Spencer says, throwing up her hands. “I swear. He didn’t. But my parents won’t help, they’re too worried about how it would look.”

Jason nods. “I get it. I’ll make a call, get my people on it.”

“Thank you,” Spencer says, almost sighing with relief. “And I’m - I’m sorry about Charlotte.”

Jason looks pensive, starts dribbling the ball again. “I saw you at the funeral,” he says. “I wanted to say something, but it was all pretty intense.”

“I didn’t know you were there,” Spencer says, surprised. “Alison said -”

“I stayed in the back, and ducked out during the last hymn. Ali knew how I felt about Charlotte being released. I didn’t want to make things worse for her.”

Spencer feels a bolt of worry shoot through her. “Have you talked to Alison lately?”

The sound of the ball bouncing against the gym floor gets louder. “She sent me a Just Married text. I’m gonna see if it lasts a month before I buy that blender they registered for.”

“I ordered monogrammed bath towels,” Spencer admits. “But the marriage might already be hung out to dry.”

Jason turns and shoots at the basket. The ball thunks hard against the backboard before falling through the net. It bounces back towards him and he jogs forward to pick it up.

“I can’t say I’m surprised,” he says, finally. “Our parents weren’t exactly the gold standard for functional relationships.”

“Jason, did your mom ever say anything to you about having a sister named Mary Drake?”

Spencer watches his face twist, his mouth becoming a hard line. “No,” he tells her. “But considering everything else they lied about - nothing about my family would surprise me.”

The words that would tell him about Alison being in a mental hospital are on the tip of her tongue, but Spencer tamps down the urge to tell him everything - the text messages, Hanna, a woman running through the woods with his mother’s face. “It’s not my place to tell you this,” she starts, “but Alison might need your help soon.”

“You need my help,” Jason responds, dribbling the ball again, “Alison never needs anyone but herself.” He lopes out and shoots from the half court mark. The ball swooshes cleanly through the hoop, nothing but net.

\----------

Hanna isn’t back yet when Spencer arrives back at the barn, but the moment she flips the lights on, she hears footsteps charging down the steps of the main house.

Both of her parents barge into her living room without so much as knocking, wearing identical expressions that hover somewhere between rage and disappointment.

“What now?” Spencer asks wearily.

Her father holds up a cell phone and starts to play a video message. Spencer’s heart nearly drops through the floor. It’s her sitting next to Caleb, right when he’d first arrived.

“I am really afraid that she’s gonna lose this election because of me,” Spencer’s voice says from the screen.

“Hey, don’t say that,” Caleb responds soothingly. “I’ll hack into the voting machines and make sure that she wins.”

The video cuts out. It’s less than ten seconds long. Ten very incriminating seconds.

“He was kidding!” Spencer protests. “He was trying to make me feel better! Where the hell did you even get this?”

“Someone sent it to me. Anonymously,” a disdainful voice informs her. Spencer turns to see Melissa standing in the doorway with her arms folded in front of her chest, and a bandage on her left cheek.


	12. Possession

“Spencer is practically under house arrest,” Hanna reports over breakfast at the Radley, taking an enormous bite of French toast. 

“That sucks,” Aria says, stabbing a grape off the fruit plate a little harder than necessary. “I really wanted to ask her if she knew what our dads were arguing about last night.”

“Is Byron acting sketchy?” Hanna inquires. “Again?”

“Will you cut it out with the first names?” Emily asks.

“Whatever you want to call him, he has been acting weird,” Aria agrees. 

“Add him to the list, I guess,” Hanna suggests. “While Spencer’s housebound, she’s going to keep going through the murder board and the files from Ali. In the meantime, we’re supposed to be digging up background on Mary Drake and Charlotte.”

“I can’t sleuth until later,” Aria says. “Liam called. He wants to talk. In person.”

“That sounds serious,” Emily observes, sipping an iced tea.

“Ezra was in Boston yesterday,” Aria worries. “I just hope he didn’t puff out his chest and tell Liam about us. He’s a sweet guy. I’d kind of like to break things off gently.”

“Okay,” Hanna frowns. “While you’re ripping the band-aid off, we’ll visit Alison. Then we can figure out how to get info on Charlotte and Mary Drake.”

\-------

Half an hour later, Aria is sitting on a park bench in the town square. She has an old copy of _To Kill a Mockingbird_ open on her lap, but all of her attention seems to be on her immediate surroundings. Her eyes dart around the square, checking the face of each passerby, examining the driver of every car.

She sees a silver car pull into a parking space, a taxi cruising around the corner behind it. She jumps up and takes a few steps forward until she hears Liam calling her name from the opposite direction.

“Liam!” she says, whirling around. “I wasn’t expecting you for another two hours!”

“I took an earlier train,” he says with a smile. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“Wow,” Aria says, beaming at him and then glancing quickly over her shoulder. “It worked! Color me surprised!”

“Is this - okay?” Liam asks, cautiously. “You seem a little distracted.”

“No!” Aria trills, nervously. “I mean, yes - I’m glad you’re here. You said you wanted to talk?”

“I do,” Liam agrees, sitting down on the bench, and motioning for Aria to join him. He wipes his palms nervously against his pant legs, and then takes off his small canvas backpack. 

“I know things between us have been feeling a little unsettled, lately. Maybe it’s because you’re back here and we don’t spend all day sitting next to each other and sneaking out to meet up for lunch at the Thai place and playing footsie under the table in meetings. Or maybe it’s because you’re on the other side now - you’re one of our authors instead of just another underling. Maybe it’s because the promotional mock ups for your book billing it as this epic and moving novel of love and loss, and you’re writing it with your ex-boyfriend.”

“Liam -” Aria starts, feeling guilty as she looks at the familiar lines of his face. It was easier to sideline her feelings for him when he wasn’t right in front of her, all sweet and honest and wearing the sweater she bought him last Christmas. 

“It’s okay,” Liam says, resting a hand on her knee. “I’m not jealous of Ezra Fitz. It’s not about him at all. This is about how I’ve spent the past few weeks worried that I was losing you. And it felt so terrible that it made me realize how important you are to me. If I stand back and let you go without a fight, I’ll turn into one of those sad lonely old men who can’t stop talking about the one who slipped away. I’ll be eating breakfast in a diner, and I won’t have any teeth, and I’ll be pointing to your author photo on the back of your latest bestseller, and trying to convince the waitress that I used to know you.” He chuckles softly and looks her earnestly in the eyes.

A loud bang interrupts the moment, and Aria and Liam both look around to see Ezra Fitz, looking grimy and unshaven, kicking a nearby trashcan. He catches sight of them and strides angrily over.

“Aria,” Ezra says with authority. “I need to talk to you in private.”

“Can it wait?” Aria asks. She motions towards Liam, who Ezra hasn’t so much as looked at. “We’re in the middle of something important here.”

“Not as important as this,” Ezra declares, taking her firmly by the arm and unapologetically steering her away.

“Ezra!” Aria hisses. “Are you drunk? You can’t just manhandle me out of a conversation!”

“It’s about the book,” Ezra responds darkly. “I was in Boston yesterday. The deal is off.”

“Off?” Aria repeats, not understanding. “What do you mean, off? We have contracts.”

“Not anymore!” Ezra says, dramatically. “Someone tipped off the publicist that our high school romance happened when I was your teacher! They said that having us listed as co-authors given our history would be a de facto endorsement of pedophilia! I had to sit there and listen while they basically accused me of being a predator and then tried eighty-six the best book I’ve ever written!”

“Calm down,” Aria tells him in a soothing voice. “They tried to eighty-six the book? Or they cancelled it and tore up our contracts?”

“We can’t be co-authors,” Ezra says. “They weren’t willing to budge on that. My original contract is still valid. They’re still willing to publish the book under my name.”

“You can’t be serious!” Aria protests. “I wrote over half of that manuscript! And how is it okay for them to publish it under your name if this whole thing is blowing up because they think you’re a creeper?”

“It’s just a rumor,” he explains, “As long as you’re a nobody, it won’t get any traction. But the moment we’re bantering about the book together on the morning shows - then the story has legs! I don’t see what the big deal is - you were willing to write the whole thing for me if it got you out of trouble! That’s how we got into this mess in the first place!” 

“A nobody?” Aria says, hurt. “This is ridiculous! I’ll talk to Jillian. But you can’t just take credit for everything I did! If they won’t put both our names on the cover, we’ll shop it around! It’s a beautiful book, we can find a different publisher!”

“You can write other books,” Ezra tells her. “And you will! But I need to get this one out into the world! I need to make peace with Nicole’s voice, and with what I did by leaving! This is my shot at redemption, Aria! I had to sit there and listen to them calling me all kinds of names over this - but if the book gets done, it’ll all be worth it!”

“Ezra, we’re a team! A good team!” Aria tries to persuade him. “After the other day, I thought we were going to be an us again! I thought you wanted that, too!”

“That has nothing to do with this,” Ezra says dismissively. “We need to keep our personal and professional lives separate right now.”

“So you want to publish this book on your own and then have us go back to hiding our relationship under a rock?”

“Don’t blame me!” Ezra says, scathingly. “Look at your bright-eyed boy wonder over there! This happens days after he finds out about our history? That’s no coincidence! He’s the one who threw a wrench into the works! To spite us!”

“What are you talking about?” Aria asks. “Liam would never try to sabotage me! And he was in New York all last week interviewing ghost writers for the Jane Pratt memoir.”

“Believe whatever you want,” Ezra tells her. “It’s done. It was my idea to bring you on as a co-author, and it’s my call now to have you removed. We have to do what’s best for the manuscript.”

“For the manuscript, or for you?” Aria ask, indignant. “You don’t get to act like you’re the Great Author and I’m just a hapless second banana! I am not the banana!”

“This is what being in an adult relationship is about,” Ezra says, patronizingly. “You have to make compromises.”

“It’s not a compromise,” Aria points out. “It’s you getting what you want and deciding that my work doesn’t matter. That’s not an adult relationship! That’s not a relationship at all, it’s you being selfish!”

“I’m done arguing about this,” Ezra declares. “I just thought you should know. Especially when I saw you over there, fraternizing with the enemy.”

“He isn’t the enemy,” Aria insists. “I’ll talk to him, maybe he can help.”

“I don’t need his help,” Ezra says, in a fit of pique. “Or yours either!” He stomps away, leaving Aria staring after him.

She feels a gentle hand on her elbow. “Are you alright?” Liam asks mildly. “That looked like quite the tantrum.”

“Of course,” Aria says, absently. “It’s just book drama. He had a bad meeting yesterday. I’m sure it’ll be fine.” 

“Forget about him,” Liam suggests. “And forget the shop talk, for now. Do you remember when we heard A.S. Byatt read at Harvard? And we both bought copies of _Possession_ and read it out loud to each other all weekend?”

Aria smiles at the memory. It was the weekend he told her he loved her for the first time. “Of course.” She wishes she could reach back and grab at the memory of those feelings, pull it through to the present like thread through the eye of a needle.

Liam pulls two copies of the book out of his bag. He hands one to Aria and opens his to a marked page as he begins reading. 

_“I for one would rather regret the reality than its phantasm, knowledge than hope, the deed than the hesitation, true life and not mere sickly potentialities.”_

“Do you remember that? His love letter to Cristobel? Page 214?” He flips open her copy of the book.

There, nestled between the pages, Aria sees the glitter of a ring. Her mouth opens in surprise, which turns quickly to horror as Ezra storms back into view, spins Liam around by his shoulder and punches him squarely in the face.


	13. Ghost

“No visitors,” the receptionist tells Hanna, with a frown. “Your friend isn’t to be disturbed. Doctor’s orders.”

Emily opens her mouth to protest, but Hanna silences her with a look. “I’ll wait in the car,” she announces. “You go ahead and visit your Aunt Rose.”

“Aunt Rose?” the receptionist asks, suspiciously.

“We just call her that,” Hanna breezes. “She loves flowers. Her real name is -”

“Dorothy!” Emily supplies, stealing a look at the guest book. “Dorothy Langford.”

Grudgingly, the receptionist waves her through.

Alison really is sleeping, or at least pretending to. Her eyes are closed and her hair is fanned out across the pillow. Seeing her takes Emily back to her sophomore year at Pepperdine.

\-------

_”I can see why you love it here,” Alison said, her fingers entangled with Emily’s. “The palm trees, the ocean. No wonder you never come home anymore.”_

_“I’m glad you’re here,” Emily said, truthfully. “It’s really good to see you.” And it was good to see Alison, it always was. In the two years since Emily graduated, Alison had kept in just enough touch to make sure Emily was okay, was happy, wasn’t dating anyone too seriously. She’d made a habit of showing up to visit Hanna in New York whenever Emily was there, swooping over to DC to take Emily clubbing whenever Spencer had some stuffy embassy party to attend. This latest version of Alison was sweetly affectionate, had no problem kissing Emily in public, liked to steal one of Emily’s old t-shirts every time they spent the night together. It’s wasn’t exactly dating, but it wasn’t exactly not dating either. It was close to dating, Emily thought. It was dating adjacent, like a house that isn’t quite on the beach, but has a view of it from the upstairs windows, maybe._

_And now Alison had come to California. Hollis was on break, she wouldn’t start student teaching until next year, and she’d just called and announced that she wanted to visit, wanted to see Emily. This was one of the most hard to grasp elements of the new Alison, how direct she could be. The way she would forgo schemes and manipulations in favor of picking up the phone and asking for what she wanted._

_Alison interrupted her train of thought by kissing her, a hand drifting slowly up her thigh. “Skip your afternoon classes,” she suggests. “Let’s head back to your place.”_

_“I can’t,” Emily said, knowing she would anyway. “I have physiology.”_

_“I’ll help you study,” Alison promises._

_Three hours later, they were still in bed. Alison was sated and sleepy._

_“What are we doing, Ali?” Emily had asked._

_“I love you,” Alison said through half-closed eyes. “When you’re done here, I want us to be a family.”_

_“That sounds nice,” Emily said, drifting off to sleep._

_When she woke up, Alison was gone._

\-------

“Ali,” Emily says, shaking her shoulder lightly.

Alison blinks slowly. “Emily! I didn’t think you’d be able to get in.”

“Elliott ordered no visitors,” Emily explains quickly. “Hanna figured out a way to get me in. I don’t like this, he can cut you off from everyone, he can keep you locked up like a prisoner.”

“Did you give Spencer those files?”

“Of course. But that’s not the point.”

“It is the point. We need information. It’s been two days and I haven’t seen Elliott, not once. You need to figure out what he’s up to.”

“We’re trying,” Emily assures her. “I still want to set an extraction date for you.”

“I love it when you start with the military talk,” Alison murmurs, sitting up. “I can’t go yet. I haven’t found what I’m looking for.”

“This is serious, Alison. We might not be able to get in next time. How much longer do you need?”

“Two days? Maybe three?”

“Two days,” Emily decides. “Then we’ll take you home. We’ll break you out of here, if we have to. And you have to tell me what you’re looking for.”

Ali doesn’t hesitate, she puts her cards on the table. “I’m trying to find Charlotte’s diary.”

\--------

Hanna’s in the parking lot, listening to the radio and making a list of possible ways to get information on Charlotte and Mary Drake. She’s also keeping one eye on the door in case Elliott or Emily comes out. 

A figure emerges, wearing a nurse’s uniform, and Hanna gasps and drops her pen. She takes her sunglasses off to get a better look. She takes out her phone and zooms in to get a picture as she watches the woman walk over to a white Subaru and drive away.

Hanna is so deep in thought she actually doesn’t notice Emily until she’s opening the passenger side door. 

“What’s wrong?” Emily asks immediately. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

“Ali thought she was seeing ghosts,” Hanna replies grimly. “And now she’s in the looney bin.” She starts the car and guns the engine.

“Where are we going?” Emily asks, clutching the roll bar as Hanna takes a corner on two wheels.

“If we’re going to find out who’s under these masks, we need to make sure we know what masks we’re looking for.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we’re paying a visit to that creepy-ass mask maker.”


	14. It's All Relative

Aria walks out of the ER, wishing the hospital had one of those punch card programs for frequent visitors. She’s sure she would be halfway to a free muffin or complimentary neck brace or something. She unlocks her car and jumps about three feet at the sight of Mona Vanderwaal sitting calmly in the passenger seat, typing furiously as she frowns at her laptop.

“Mona!” Aria exclaims. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re on the buddy system,” Mona shrugs. “Hanna and Emily are chasing down a different lead, and Spencer’s parents have her on lock down, so it looks like you and I are the last two kids picked for the kickball team.”

“I meant what are you doing in my car,” Aria clarifies.

“Oh,” Mona responds. “I didn’t want to intrude on the aftermath of the bro brawl.” She looks up from her computer as if she’s back at the end of lunch table, hoping to hear something juicy. “Is it true Ezra broke Liam’s nose?”

“He bruised his jaw,” Aria admits. “But then Liam broke his hand giving Ezra a black eye.”

“I can’t even imagine it,” Mona muses. “It’s like a cartoon where a chipmunk gets into a fight with a hedgehog.”

“It’s not funny,” Aria snaps, before sighing and resting her forehead against the steering wheel. “I’m sorry. When I woke up this morning, I had two boyfriends and a book contract. Now I’ve got nothing.”

Mona’s eyebrows shoot up, registering surprise at the apology. She pats Aria tentatively on the back. “Hey,” she says, soothingly. “You have more talent in your little finger than Ezra Fitz has in his whole body. Especially when he’s sulking in a vat of man tears. You don’t need a man. You have friends who love you, okay? Like, not me - let’s not get carried away - but lots of people didn’t want you to get burned to a crisp!”

Aria sniffs a little at the weird pep talk, then nods.

“And there’s one more thing that you have,” Mona adds. “An assignment from Spencer.”

\-------

Forty-five minutes later, Aria is sipping a green kale smoothie and flipping through folders in the musty basement of the church.

“What are we doing?” she asks Mona.

“It’s a superfood,” Mona responds, barely looking up. 

“No, I mean in why are we looking through a thousand dusty files that have no information about any of this? I have a budget for every church spaghetti dinner in 1985, I have minutes from the Youth for Christ meeting in October of 1992, I have a sheaf full of True Love Waits pledges - and none of it has anything to do with Charlotte or Mary Drake or whoever is after us now.”

“Because Charlotte’s birth certificate is conveniently missing from City Hall. But Mary Drake was in Radley, and they have an aggressive ministry outreach. There’s a decent chance her baby was baptized, and we might still be able to find a record or an announcement or _something_.

Aria’s smoothie cup is empty and another long interval of fruitless research has passed before Mona suddenly sits up. “I’ve got something!”

Aria scoots eagerly over, examining an old church bulletin over Mona’s shoulder. “Mary Drake, who regularly joins in worship at the Radley chapel outreach, gave birth to an infant over the weekend. The child will be christened Charles Drake next Sunday, all are welcome to attend.”

“Where are the baptismal records?” Mona asks, frantically pawing through the piles of paper.

“Can I help you?” a pleasant voice asks from the bottom of the stairs. Aria turns and sees Sean Ackard smiling blandly and looking starched within an inch of his life. 

“Sean! You are a sight for sore eyes!” Mona sing-songs, as if they’re still planning double dates for the weekend. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m a Deacon now,” Sean says, proudly. He looks a little more pompous than he used to, he has the air of an aspiring televangelist about him. “My dad retired last year. Did I hear you say you were looking for baptism records?”

“I’m tracing my family history,” Mona informs him. “I did one of those searches on Ancestry.com, and it turns out the Vanderwaals _might_ be descendants of Queen Victoria! Can you imagine? I could be five hundred and sixty-first in line to the throne! I could borrow Kate Middleton’s hats! I just have to do a little leg work, first.”

“Well, the baptismal records are upstairs in the office,” Sean explains helpfully. “Let me show you.”

“Great,” Mona says, flashing him a big smile. “Come on, Aria! Let’s go get my crown!”

“Oh!” Sean says, his focus shifting to Aria. “Wow. You look - nice.” The way he’s staring at her neckline makes Aria feel sure the actual word he was searching for was more along the lines of either loose or slutty, but she rolls her eyes and follows them upstairs.

“Look who I found!” Sean calls enthusiastically as they walk by Pastor Ted’s office. Pastor Ted comes out with a friendly smile on his face as Sean unlocks the door to the small filing room where the baptismal records are kept.

“Miss Vanderwaal!” he exclaims. “Our choir has never been the same without you!”

“I’m sure that’s true,” Mona giggles, tossing her hair. “I do like a good hymn, as you know.” She jerks her head to indicate that Aria should start digging while she distracts the Holy Rollers.

“Your voice always gave me chills,” he tells her. “So impassioned! How long are you back in town? Maybe we’ll see you at Sunday’s service?”

“Only if you promise that Amazing Grace will be on the roster,” Mona says. “It’s funny, I was just thinking of you the other day. I thought I saw you at the hospital.”

“Yes,” Ted says, putting his hands awkwardly in his pockets. “I saw you there with - Hanna’s mother.” He gets a bit red in the face as he hurriedly continues. “I was there to see Lucas Gottesman. Local boy makes good, then gets shot in the sanctuary.” He shakes his head sadly. “He asked after Hanna very eagerly. Do you know if she’s alright?”

“She’s peachy,” Mona enthuses. “How’s Lucas doing?”

“He should pull through,” Sean interjects. “A miracle from Jesus if ever there was one!”

\---------

Hanna and Emily park outside Harold Lime’s studio. It’s less creepy in daylight, but still has an eerie stillness lingering in the air.

“Hello?” Hanna calls, pushing the door open with an ominous creak. “Anybody here?”

“No one but our faces,” Emily mutters. “Look at this!” The studio has indeed moved to shaped rubber masks instead of plaster, and there are four mannequin heads on the counter wearing the Liars’ faces. Emily runs a finger over the tip of the Spencer mask’s nose. “These are incredible.”

Hanna is already taking pictures of every mask she comes across. “Look for the one you took a piece out of the other night,” she tells Emily.

“This one,” Emily says, pointing to a generic female mask underneath a red wig. “With the fake glasses.”

Hanna snaps a picture and moves on. “I’ve got a whole drawer of Sara Harvey’s here. As if the real one wasn’t bad enough.”

“I found a Wilden,” Emily announces. “This place is like a rogue’s gallery of anyone who’s ever creeped on us.”

Hanna is tearing through closets and climbing step ladders with an intensity that makes Emily suspicious. “I don’t get it,” she mutters. “It’s not here.”

“What’s not here?” Emily asks. “Who are you looking for?”

“No one,” Hanna insists. “I thought I saw an old friend. It’s nothing.” 

“Is this one Ian?” Emily asks, tilting her head.

“It’s Jason,” Hanna says, squinting. 

“How can you even tell?”

“Obviously, I pay more attention to men’s faces than you do! Besides, look where he is.”

Emily glances at the masks on each side of Jason, and shudders. “I see what you mean,” she says, looking from a severe Melissa Hastings to an eerie replica of Charlotte DiLaurentis. “Right between his sisters.”

Emily strolls behind the worktable that serves as a counter, starts leafing through a thick sketchbook of designs. 

“He has a 3D printer,” Hanna observes. “Those aren’t cheap.”

“They don’t need to be,” Emily says, inhaling sharply. “It looks like Harold Lime got a major arts grant last year.”

“This is art?” Hanna asks, skeptically. “He’s a hermit who steals people’s faces! Who would give him money for that?”

“Philanthropists,” Emily says, holding up a bank statement. “He got $100,000 from the Carissimi Foundation.”

\--------- 

“Excuse me,” Aria says. “I think I found what we needed. You wouldn’t have a copy machine around here, would you?”

Sean steers her into his own office to let her use the copier, pulling a photo of Bridget Wu off the desk to show her. “Married last year,” he boasts. “No kids yet, but soon, God willing.” 

“That’s great!” Aria tells him, wondering if it’s possible he’s still a virgin. “Congratulations!” She feigns a coughing fit to cover up a giggle, and he rushes out to the hallway to get her a drink of water. She uses his absence to quickly copy the small file on the baptism of Charles Drake.

He’s back with a paper cup in hand before she’s quite finished shoving the file underneath the one she pulled for Mona’s regency coup.

“Did Mike ever find him?” Sean asks politely.

“Hmm?” Aria asks, sipping the water.

“Your brother. I saw him last month, we had a laugh over Noel’s crazy band. Have you seen their album cover? He’s wearing _guyliner._ But he was here looking at that same file.”

“For Charles Drake?” Aria clarifies, stunned.

“Yeah, that’s the one,” Sean nods. “Your long lost cousin.”


	15. In Case of Emergency

Spencer sits in the barn alone, trying to distract herself by going over the many files she’s accumulated. Between Jason’s team of lawyers and Mona’s ability to track the hack through multiple IP addresses and satellite signals, Caleb has been released. He hasn’t tried to contact her, though, maybe because he wants to give her space post-break up talk, or maybe because her parents have taken a restraining order out that prohibits him from coming within 100 feet of their property. Still, Spencer wishes he had at least tried.

She decides to get to work, thumbing through the Mary Drake file from Radley. Emergency contact listed as Jessica DiLaurentis, she notes. Sister. There’s a copy of Charlotte’s misgendered birth certificate, with no father listed. Spencer calculates the date of Mary’s final commitment as six months before she gave birth. There’s a brief intake form that diagnoses Mary Drake as violent, sociopathic, and delusional. Apple, Spencer thinks. Tree. 

The invoices for Mary’s care are all billed to a third party. Spencer flips to the back and finds the payment information. Of course. The Carissimi Group. Where there’s smoke, there’s usually a sketchy Latin named company.

She find the paperwork Mary signed, the voluntary commitment forms that bound her to Radley for so many years. The documents are thicker than expected, it’s not a simple process - but Spencer quickly realizes there’s more than meets the eye. She picks up the phone to call Caleb, then squelches the impulse. The others are all out in the field. She can fill them in later. 

She double checks her interpretation, nodding. Mary Drake signed herself into Radley via an ironclad contract that prohibited her from ever being released without the express written consent of Jessica DiLaurentis. And moreover, she signed over her entire life savings and all claims to their family inheritance to the Carissimi Group. This was way beyond a boilerplate contract, Jessica had clearly hired someone to make sure that her sister stayed locked away for good. 

Spencer looked at Mary’s signature, a spidery line on the bottom of the last page. Then she looked closer, her heart pounding. Witnesses to the contract were also listed, right there in black and white. Spencer feels a chill run straight down her spine as she reads the names. It’s like a slot machine with three cherries falling into place. Peter Hastings. Byron Montgomery. Thomas Marin.

\-----

“Where’s Dad?” Spencer asks urgently, barging into the house without knocking.

Melissa is eating a salad on the kitchen island. “They went out. They’re meeting with party officials for a strategy session on damage control.”

“I’m going out,” Spencer announces. “I need my keys.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Melissa tells her. “There are still photographers camped out in front of our house! Whoever has that video of you hasn’t made it public yet - but you need to stay here and stay out of sight.”

“It’s important,” Spencer says, firmly.

“There’s always something important, isn’t there?” Melissa asks snidely. “Everything is so important to you, Spencer. Except your own family.”

“My family,” Spencer says, raising her voice, “has a nasty habit of burying their sins in the backyard.”

The color drains from Melissa’s face. “How dare you?” she hisses.

“How did you get that bandage?” Spencer asks. “God, were you even in London at all?”

“There was turbulence on the plane,” Melissa answers coolly. “I cut it on the edge of my tray table. Now, I suggest you stop interrogating me and start thinking about how you can help Mom. Like, by going out to the barn and staying there quietly until she gets home.”

“I’m a grown woman, I don’t need a babysitter,” Spencer says, scathingly.

“Clearly, you do,” Melissa insists, grinding a crouton between her molars.

“Spencer!” Jason’s voice calls from the backyard. “Spencer, are you in there?”

“What’s he doing here?” Melissa frowns.

“I don’t know, but right now he’s the only relative I have who’s on my side,” Spencer says, storming back out into the night, slamming the door behind her.

“Spencer!” Jason says, urgently. “Where is Alison?”

“She’s - indisposed,” Spencer responds, hesitantly. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know what game she and Dr. Rollins are playing at,” Jason says angrily. “But he has all her shares of Carissimi, and he’s seizing control of all our accounts! I bounced a check to that basketball program today! There are Habitat houses waiting to be built in New Orleans that we were supposed to be donating the lumber for! This is no time for the two of them to cash in all their chips and buy an island or something!”

“Alison isn’t doing this,” Spencer tells him, bringing him into the cozy interior of the barn. He glances around at the array of documents and files and the bulletin board timeline, but seems to distraught to take it in. “Rollins, it turns out, was involved with Charlotte. He tried to kill Alison on their honeymoon.”

“What?”

“He and his accomplice tried to make Alison think she was going insane. She signed herself into a mental hospital so that they’d believe it had worked. She’s been waiting for them to make their next move.”

“Well, their next move is to siphon every cent out of my company! She couldn’t have warned me about this? You couldn’t have given me a heads up?”

“It’s Alison,” is all Spencer says. “She always has a plan.”

“That’s not exactly comforting,” Jason says, running his hands through his hair. “Especially when, knowing Alison, the plan could involve ninja assassins or secret Swiss bank accounts. Or a thousand other things that she knows about and no one else does.”

“She had Emily smuggle out some paperwork,” Spencer tells him. “It’s not much, but we can take a look, see if we can find something in there.”

“What choice do I have?” Jason says, exasperated. “It’s not like I have to get up early for work tomorrow.”

Spencer dumps out the duffel bag full of files. What they need is ridiculously easy to find. A manila envelope with Spencer and Jason’s names written on the outside, in Alison’s perfect handwriting.

Jason rips it open, and Spencer dives into the contents. There’s a notarized document designating Emily Fields to have Alison’s Power of Attorney, and a post it note with a phone number and scribbled instructions that read, “In Case of Emergency, Call.”

Spencer and Jason exchange puzzled looks as Spencer pulls out her phone to dial. It rings once. Twice. 

“Spencer!” the voice on the other end answers, as if he’s never been more delighted to hear from her. Spencer feels her fingers go numb with shock as she almost drops the phone at the sound of his voice.

Wren Kingston sounds as cheerful and flirtatious as ever. “To what do I owe this very great pleasure?”


	16. Remembrance of Things Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _I fell so behind on this story that the next several chapters are un-beta'd. All mistakes are my own!_
> 
> \--------

Alison wanders through the antiseptic smelling hall in her nightgown, feeling like a Bronte heroine drifting across the moors. She makes her way stealthily towards an office door, entering a security code on the keypad to gain entrance. Her eyes flit over the polished brass placard on the door, and she scowls briefly at the sight of her husband’s name.

She makes quick work of the room, tossing desk drawers, couch cushions, cracking the combination of the wall safe. Nothing. Elliott is unimaginative. If he knew he had it, she would have found his hiding place by now.

Alison gazes around the room, trying to think like Charlotte. She checks the air vents. Stands on the desk to see if any ceiling tiles are loose. Then her eyes fall on the bookshelf and she actually laughs out loud. Her sister was always a step ahead, an expert at hiding things in plain sight. Once she starts combing through Elliott’s dusty volumes of psychology textbooks, it practically falls into her hands. Wedged behind a thick leather bound copy of _Statistical Models in Behavioral Research_ , is an oversized hard backed journal that she’d seen Charlotte scribbling in dozens of times. She feels around behind the other books on the shelf, finding two others.

She opens one with a red cover, feels a jolt at the familiar sight of Charlotte’s small loopy handwriting. She glances quickly over the page, noticing a small diagram of how to rig the accelerator of a car. Alison closes her eyes, imagines the front window of the Fields house smashed to pieces. And worse than that, she’s remembering that terrible visit to Emily at Pepperdine three years ago.

\------

_”I love you,” Alison mumbled. “When you’re done here, I want us to be a family.” She felt a surge of elation at the words, at finally having reached a place where she could say them out loud. She snuggled into the warmth of Emily’s body next to her and let the feelings of peaceful contentment take hold. Emily could come back to Rosewood after graduation. She could move into the house, maybe she could ask Spencer to help redecorate, or talk to Toby about building an inground pool in the yard. And then eventually Charlotte would be released, and she could have the two people she loved most in the world under one roof with her._

_“That sounds nice,” Emily said, smiling even though she was already half-asleep._

_Alison rolled over, propped an elbow behind her head and watched Emily, feeling too happy to sleep right now. They could adopt a dog. A rescue. Em would like that. She might have to give up her gig coaching girls soccer for the church, but she could always volunteer to direct the fall play at the high school or be an assistant coach for the field hockey team instead._

_Alison practically snorted at how sentimental she was getting. She could still remember how eager she used to be to get away from Rosewood, to land in a big city and make her mark. Marry someone fabulously rich, then trade him in for an even older and richer model after a few years. She ran a fingertip across the muscles of Emily’s shoulder, grateful beyond words for another fresh start. They could go on vacation together to the Caribbean. She and Em could sign up for cooking classes where they might get a little flirty at the cutting board, add a little extra spice to the paella. They could plant a little garden. She imagined Emily planting a rose bush, Charlotte in a sun hat with a watering can. They could invite everyone over for a big Thanksgiving - Jason and Spencer and Hanna and Aria - they’d definitely come if Emily invited them._

_Emily shuddered a little in her sleep, and Alison pulled her closer, pressed a kiss against the back of her neck. Which was oddly damp with sweat. Emily thrashed suddenly in her sleep, “No!” she cried, as she kicked one of her legs out hard. “Please. Please don’t hurt them! Shock me!” Her voice sounded so terrified that Alison felt fear crawling up her own spine._

_She tried to shake Emily’s shoulder as gently as she could to wake her up. But Emily was in the grip of the nightmare, she was sobbing brokenly, a hopeless pleading tone in her voice. “Kill me,” she whispered. “It would hurt Ali. Do it! Kill me and let them go! Please!”_

_“Emily!” Alison said loudly, distraught. “Emily, wake up!” She put her hands on Emily’s cheeks, which were wet with tears._

_Emily opened her eyes and looked right at her. “Charlotte!” she screamed._

\-------------

Alison slipped back into her room, quickly hiding two of the diaries under her mattress, and keeping the third out to read. The moon was bright enough, she wouldn’t need to turn on the light, and her little helper should be coming by soon - she could take all three of the books and get them to the girls somehow. It would be risky, but not as risky as leaving something so valuable unprotected in her room.

These are all the proof she’s needed. Charlotte wasn't working alone. Someone else had been calling the shots all along.


	17. Big Brothers, Big Sisters

Jason and Spencer are sitting on the couch in the barn, a cold pot of coffee on the table in front of them. 

“You should tell Melissa,” Jason says, finally. “If he’s coming here.”

Spencer is staring off into some personal middle distance. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.”

“She’s your sister. She’d want to know. They were together a long time, Spencer.”

“I’m not sure,” Spencer repeats, “If Melissa can be trusted.”

“This is Rosewood,” Jason shrugs. “No one can be trusted. Sometimes you have to take a chance.” He stands up, putting an arm through the sleeve of his jacket. “I’m going to talk to my lawyers. If Emily had Alison’s Power of Attorney, we might be able to argue that Dr. Rollin’s doesn’t have standing to control her shares of the company. But call me, okay? When he gets here?”

“Sure,” Spencer answers, mechanically. “Of course.” She barely looks up as Jason heads out the door, her mind clicking into gear as she considers possible connections between Wren and Alison. He hadn’t wanted to go into it on the phone, out of what he called an abundance of caution. She wonders if that might be true, or whether he just wanted an excuse to see her. 

“It takes quite the crisis to get on your dance card doesn’t it,” he’d chuckled, after she’d given him the short version of why she was calling. “I’m in New York at the moment, but I’ll get the first train.” His voice pitched a bit lower, his accent crisper. “And Spencer? It’s good to hear your voice.”

She gets up and goes to the kitchen, counting Melissa and Wren’s break ups and make ups on the silverware as she runs it under hot water. A butter knife from breakfast. The engagement being called off. She looks at her own reflection in the blade, trying to remember who she was then, how it felt to have Wren look at her like he did that night on the patio. A coffee spoon. She rinses the curve and remembers how Wren helped Melissa when Ian was hurt. She thinks about him, following Melissa to London. Wonders what he said, what he did, to get another chance with her. She runs her fingers along the sharp tines of a fork, thinking about Hanna’s story about Melissa drunk in a posh London powder room, her claim that Charlotte broke them up in a final act of malice. She dries everything with a bright yellow dish towel. Even after everything, Ali never wavered in her certainty that Charlotte deserved a second chance. 

Spencer slips on her shoes to walk up to the house. Jason was right. She’ll tell Melissa. Give her time to pick the right lipstick and perfume combination, or to clear out if she doesn’t want to see him. 

From a few feet away, Spencer sees that the patio door is ajar. She can make out the back of Jason’s jacket, his shoulders square and tense as he argues with Melissa.

Spencer stands in the shadows, leaning in to catch as much of their conversation as she can.

“I don’t understand you two,” Jason says, sounding exasperated. “She needs to know. She’s your _sister_.”

“She’s your sister, too,” Melissa snarks. “But you always want to be the good guy, don’t you? The truth would really cut into your big brother routine.”

“You brought him here,” Jason says. “You knew exactly who he was.”

“And you knew exactly what I needed him to do. You can’t just pick yourself up from a puddle of scotch and pretend like it never happened.”

“Tell her now,” Jason presses. “It’s not too late. Before he decides to tell her about -”

“He’s not going to tell her anything,” Melissa interrupts. “If that was his game, they would have found out years ago. It’s been too long. He has no way to spin this where he doesn’t come out dirty. Spencer would _never_ trust him again.”

“Are you sure Spencer is the only one we need to be worried about?”

“Who else?” Melissa counters. “Hanna? Please.” She shakes her head, dismissively. “Her tastes have evolved. And he’s not a threat to us. He’s a bad guy who claimed to grow a conscience - maybe he did, maybe he didn’t! Either way, he won’t be sticking around.” 

“Even if you can get him to leave, he never stays gone,” Jason warns.

Spencer’s phone pings loudly from inside her pocket, and she curses silently, retreating quickly back to the barn as Melissa and Jason turn nervously towards the windows. 

She slides in the door, her heart pounding, and sees that the message was an SOS from Aria. Before she can start typing back, she catches sight of Aria hunched on the couch. Her eyes are red rimmed and she’s biting her nails to stop her hands from shaking.

“What’s wrong?” Spencer asks, her voice full of concern. She sits next to Aria and puts an arm around her shoulders. “Is it Ezra?”

Aria leans into Spencer for a minute before she can gather herself together enough to answer. “It’s not Ezra. It’s Mike. He was there that night. Spencer - I don’t know what to do! I think Mike may have killed Charlotte!”


	18. Curiouser

Hanna and Emily are studying the newly revamped menu of the Apple Rose Grille.

“God,” Hanna says, frowning. “Everything is artisanal. Which is code for tiny. And there are no fries!”

“I’m having a salad,” Emily tells her. “With a side of what’s Mona doing here?” She nods to the large front windows, where Mona is checking her reflection and valeting her car.

“I invited her,” Hanna says, smiling in spite of the fact that a waiter is delivering three cupcake sized cheeseburgers on a cutting board to a neighboring table. She waves at Mona, the silver bracelets on her wrist jangling musically.

“Did I miss a vote?” Emily grouses. “Is she part of the group now?”

Hanna winces at Emily’s words. “She’s important. Not just to the mystery. To me.”

Emily’s eyebrows furrow, her face a pucker of concern. “Of course,” she says. “I’m sorry.”

“Besides, you still owe me for that day at the beach when you and Ali disappeared and I got stuck listening to Ben Coogan drone on about NASCAR for five hours.”

“That was nine years ago!”

“I love you, but I tanned unevenly,” Hanna responds.

“Only because you fell asleep.”

“Hello ladies,” Mona says brightly, setting down her purse. “I hear the beet salad is scrumptious here, FYI.”

Hanna scoots over to make room as Mona squeezes into the booth next to her. 

“Where’s Aria?” Emily asks.

Mona shrugs and casually takes a sip of Hanna’s ice water. “She got super freaked out when we were digging around at the church. Said she needed to talk to Spencer. But we found some info on Charlotte and I traced that voting machine hack off three different satellite and I still had time for a pedicure at the mall!” She kicks one of her feet out of her open toed slingbacks and waggles her plum colored toe nails. “What did you two get up to?”

“We snuck Emily into the mental hospital for a visit with Alison, and then drove out to Hector Lime’s weirdo mask factory. He’s upgraded his operation to rubber movie masks, and he’s being bank rolled by Carissimi.”

“Curiouser and curiouser,” Mona says, raising her eyebrows.

\--------

 

“He was there that night. Spencer, I don’t know what to to do! I think Mike may have killed Charlotte!”

“Slow down,” Spencer says, forcing her voice into a soothing tone, even as she feels every muscle in her body tensing at Aria’s words. “Tell me everything.”

“He’s been having a hard time,” Aria begins, her words tumbling out. “I don’t even think my parents know the worst of it. He got through the first semester at Ohio State, but then he stopped answering his phone. I was going to visit him for his birthday, but when I showed up at his dorm, his roommate hadn’t seen him for a week. I started asking around and finally the campus police found an incident report, they found him splashing around naked in Mirror Lake. He was still in the hospital when I got there - they were treating him for hypothermia and while he was there, they diagnosed him as bipolar. I was so relieved he was okay, but the meds made him - like he wasn’t even there.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me this before?” Spencer asks, aghast. “I would have been there in a second. You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.”

Aria shakes her head and squeezes Spencer’s hand tightly. “It wasn’t my secret. He didn’t want people to know. Eventually the doctors adjusted the dosage and he was better. He transferred to Central Penn to be closer to home. I thought everything was back to normal, but then a year ago he went off his meds. He was drinking a lot and he wasn’t sleeping, and I had no idea until I heard about it from Noel - Mike called him up rambling about angels and demons and then halfway through the conversation asked him for bail money. I guess he was eating at a Waffle House, and when he didn’t have the money to pay, he freaked out and started flipping the tables, smashed the juke box, broke a few windows. Noel helped him get a good lawyer and he went on a new medication and got sentenced to community service.”

“I tried to keep in better touch, I made him call me every week to check in. He was constantly preoccupied with why this was happening to him. He thought maybe it was the divorce or everything with Mona and Charlotte or me getting kidnapped - but his therapist kept telling him that it’s all about brain chemistry, it’s an illness, that we don’t know why it happens.”

“But he blamed Charlotte?” Spencer asks. 

“I don’t know! Lately he’s been really hard on my dad, but in a quiet way. I was glad to be coming back here for awhile, I was worried he might be depressed.”

“But he was there that night? You saw him at the church?”

“He scared the hell out of me. Ezra put me in that cab, and we drove around the corner and a few blocks away and then the driver slammed on the brakes. It was Mike, and I hadn’t even recognized him. He had a bushy beard and wild eyes and he was ranting about how our parents should have known, how they could have changed everything and stopped the devil. I told him he was scaring me and he yelled at me to get out of the car. He said he had things to do, that he was going to heal the fracture, he was going to do it with his own hands. He was going to pull up the rotten tree by its roots. He wasn’t making any sense, I got out of the car just to try and calm him down, but he roared off back towards the town square.”

“Oh my god,” Spencer says, horrified. “Have you talked to him since then? Have you seen him?”

“He was supposed to meet me today,” Aria admits. “Before Liam and Ezra showed up to duke it out in the park. I spotted his cab, but he must have gotten skittish when he saw both of them there.”

“Does anyone else know?” 

“No one,” Aria says firmly. “That’s why I went back to Boston, why I’ve been avoiding Ali. I was terrified I was going to slip and say something that might make him seem guilty. I mean, I knew it looked bad, but I didn’t think he was capable of hurting anyone. But then today - this part is a secret, okay? I don’t want the others to know. Not yet.”

Spencer nods. “I promise,” she says, her arm still protectively around Aria’s shoulders.

“Did I ever tell you about my Uncle Scott?”

“Your dad’s brother? The one who disappeared?”

“That’s the one,” Aria confirms. “I think Mike found some information about him. Spencer, he was in Radley. He’s Charlotte’s father.”


	19. Shadows

Mona is taking a delicate bite of her salmon. “So I had to tell his campaign that _of course_ we wouldn’t be able to endorse him. Although I personally felt that Senator Rubio had the very best shoes on the campaign trail.”

Hanna is beaming and bumping her shoulder against Mona’s. “How do we feel about dessert?”

“If it’s triple chocolate cheesecake?” Mona smiles, “We feel great!”

“I’ll be right back,” Emily says. “Order me another glass of wine?” 

“I reserve the right to drink it myself if you aren’t back in five minutes,” Hanna nods. “Or if I get really thirsty.”

Emily gets up and walks towards the bathroom. Mona’s been on her best and most charming behavior all throughout dinner, which has made for a perfectly pleasant albeit slightly suspicious, meal. Emily watches Hanna in the mirror that covers the back wall of the restaurant, watching her giggle and lean closer to Mona as they study the wine list together. Whatever they’re laughing about, Emily thinks, they look happier than usual. Younger. Hanna’s broken engagement agrees with her. 

She pushes open the door of the bathroom, noticing that even the restrooms are looking fancier than ever, with chunky candles lit and baskets of individually wrapped soaps near the sinks.

A minute after Emily has locked herself in a stall, she hears the door of the bathroom open and a shadow falls across the floor in the flickering candlelight. It’s no one, she tells herself. Or it’s someone checking their makeup. She could stay put, wait for Hanna to come looking for her. 

“Fuck it,” Emily mutters to herself. This isn’t high school. There are lots of things scarier than shadows. She flushes the toilet and swings the stall door open, as if she’s a gun fighter heading into an old west saloon.

It’s not no one, though it might as well be. It’s Sara Harvey.

\---------

Back at the table, Hanna is rummaging through her purse for her phone. She fishes it out of her bag and pulls up the photo of the nurse in the parking lot.

Mona’s jaw drops, her lips a perfect ‘o’ of surprise.

“It has to be a mask, right?” Hanna asks, tentatively. “I mean, there’s no other explanation.”

Mona examines the picture carefully before answering. “Did you show this to Emily?”

“No,” Hanna says, firmly. “I don’t want to help them mess with her head.”

“Like they did with Alison,” Mona agrees. “But why is she leaving? Why wouldn’t she hang around and let Emily catch sight of her?”

Hanna shrugs, taking a large bite of her cheesecake. “It’s one more weird thing. Welcome to Rosewood, weird things capital of the world.”

\-------

“Am I supposed to be afraid of you?” Emily asks, her arms crossed. “Because all this tailing me around, it’s getting old.”

“It’s a small town,” Sara counters. “People run into each other, Emily.”

“They do,” Emily agrees. “Especially when one of them’s a stalking the other. Why don’t you save us both some time and just tell me what you want.”

“I want information,” Sara admits. “About Charlotte.”

“Take a number,” Emily retorts. “I thought you knew all about Charlotte. All those long nights of scheming together.”

Sara’s eyes fill with tears. “Please, Emily. She promised. She said she’d take care of me.”

“You’re good at getting people to take care of you,” Emily says, acidly. “But that’s not my problem anymore.”

“I know you really did care about me,” Sara pleads. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the truth! But I have a criminal record and I can barely use my hands - Charlotte had money stashed all over the place, all I want is my fair share!”

Emily brushes past her to wash her hands, looking disgusted. “This is all about money? If I knew where Charlotte kept her rainy day fund, I’d be using it to pay for college, not going halfsies with you.”

“Alison knows,” Sara says, confidently. “Convince her to tell you.”

Emily grabs one of the soaps and throws it hard at Sara’s face. Sara reacts instinctively, catching it easily in the fingers of her left hand. Emily laughs mirthlessly. “Why should I believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?”

“Because,” Sara pleads desperately. “I know who stole your eggs.”

\----------

Emily storms back out to the table, drains her glass of wine in one smooth gulp, and heads for the front door of the restaurant.

“Where are you going?” Hanna calls after her, pulling cash out of her purse to leave on the table.

She and Mona catch up to Emily on the sidewalk outside. 

“I’ll drive,” Mona offers, calmly handing the valet her ticket. “But you’ll have to tell me where we’re going. And why.”

“The Hastings house,” Emily says, grimly. “Turns out I have a score to settle with Melissa.”


	20. In Search of Lost Time

The door to Alison’s room opens slowly, squeaking only a little on the hinges.

Dr. Rollins enters quietly, his fingers loosening the knot of the purple silk tie at his neck.

He approaches his wife, who is breathing deeply, her eyes closed and the blankets pulled up to her chin on the bed. He slides the tie deftly from beneath his collar and wraps the material around the knuckles of his hands. He moves towards Alison’s throat as the silk snaps taut.

\-----------

Emily barges into the barn without knocking, surprising Spencer and Aria who startle at her entrance, moving away from each other on the couch.

“Let me into the house,” Emily demands without preamble, just as Hanna and Mona appear behind her.

“What’s going on?” Spencer asks, her voice cautious and her eyes watchful.

“Is Melissa in there?” Emily asks. “Because you can either let me in, or I’ll bang down the door and make a scene that’ll give the press corps lingering out front a major exclusive.” 

Spencer puts her hands up in a conciliatory gesture. “Okay! Of course I’ll let you in.” She glances at Aria, mutters, “We’ll finish this later,” in a careful undertone.

Spencer leads Emily to the back door and unlocks it, the others following uncertainly behind, as if they’re still in fifth grade, marching with their Girl Scout troop in the Memorial Day parade.

“Melissa!” Emily shouts, making a beeline for the kitchen. The oldest Hastings daughter is nowhere to be seen, as Emily throws the freezer open and starts pawing through its contents.

Aria dodges a frozen steak and gently puts a hand on Emily’s shoulder. “Em, what’s going on?”

“Melissa!” Emily shouts again, instead of answering, dumping bags of frozen edamame and ripping the lid off a tupperware container of clam chowder before unceremoniously tossing it in the sink.

“If you’re hungry, I can order a pizza,” Spencer offers, perplexed.

“She’s not hungry,” Hanna explains. “She’s pissed.”

“You don’t say,” Melissa says, her voice dripping with sarcasm as she comes down the stairs. “You bellowed, Emily?”

Emily spins around to face her, and points a finger accusingly in her direction. “What were you doing at the fertility clinic?”

Melissa’s face gives nothing away. She blinks, her features blank and unconcerned. “That’s none of your business,” she says, her voice so icy that the temperature seems to drop twenty degrees.

“That’s not an answer,” Emily counters, angrily. 

“Emily,” Spencer says, moving to the foot of the stairs, putting herself between the two of them. “Calm down, okay?”

“Don’t tell me to calm down! I’m sorry, Spencer - but your sister is not on our side! She stole my eggs! And look at her - take off that bandage! You’re way too smart to play dumb about this! Can you seriously say she’s not the one who had Hanna?” 

“Anything else?” Melissa asks, sounding annoyed. “Did I bury Jimmy Hoffa and kick a few puppies in my spare time? I have a few minutes. I’d _love_ to hear more of these baseless accusations.”

“Take off the bandage,” Hanna says, moving behind Emily. “Unless you have something to hide.”

“Woah,” Spencer says. “That’s enough. Where is all this coming from?”

“Someone saw you,” Emily says, ignoring Spencer completely. “You were the last patient out of the clinic that night.”

“So much for privacy,” Melissa huffs. “Fine! I was there. I had an appointment!”

“For what?” Spencer says, caught off balance in her defense.

“Do I need to draw you a map, Nancy Drew? Because I’m getting older! I’ve already had one miscarriage! I want to have a family, and I was meeting with a doctor to discuss my options!” Melissa’s voice is trembling, as if it’s full of tears. “Is there anyone else you’d like me to broadcast my private life to? Should I draft a press release?” 

Emily’s glare is wavering, a crack of uncertainty running through her fury. 

“I don’t know where you got your information,” Melissa says. “But they didn’t give you the whole story.”

“Sara Harvey,” Emily admits. “She claimed she was staking out the clinic trying to figure out what I was doing there.”

“You’re accusing my sister on the word of your evil ex-girlfriend and her long leather gloves?” Spencer scoffs. 

“After she tried to sic Tanner on me?” Aria exclaims. “If it comes down to who we can trust between Sara and Melissa, I say we go with the Black Swan we know.”

“Touching,” Melissa says, derisively. “Also, you’re wasting your time defrosting my parents Frigidaire. The clinic freezes your eggs in liquid nitrogen. You’re not going to find them hiding next to the Lean Cuisines.” 

Emily looks abashed. “I’m sorry,” she says. “It’s been kind of a crazy time.”

“Do not apologize,” Hanna tells her. “At least not until we see if she’s the one whose face you keyed.”

Melissa retreats a few steps. “Spencer,” she says, sounding wounded. “Don’t you think your little friends have done enough for one night?”

“Of course,” Mona agrees smoothly, moving next to Spencer. “This is all a big misunderstanding.” She maneuvers herself onto the staircase and climbs up to stand next to Melissa in a display of solidarity.

She places a hand on Melissa’s elbow. “Let’s just forget all this unpleasantness, shall we? Ashley can comp you a spa day at Radley, and we’ll call it even.”

“Fine by me,” Melissa shrugs. “Run along, now. You can probably accuse a few more innocent people before midnight.”

There’s a banging noise outside that makes them all turn towards the patio. All except Mona, who takes advantage of the distraction to claw the bandage off Melissa’s cheek with her fingernails, revealing a jagged cut roughly the size and shape of a key.

Melissa slaps Mona across the face, clutches a hand to her cheek and runs back up the stairs.

“It was her,” Mona says, definitively. “You all saw it!”

“I didn’t,” Aria says. “I saw her smack you and run away.”

“She said there was turbulence on the plane,” Spencer says.

“There was turbulence in Emily’s fist,” Hanna offers. “Come on, Spencer. It’s time we get some answers.”

“Perhaps I can help with that?” a cultured British voice offers from the doorway, where Wren Kingston is standing, staring at the scene with evident amusement, smiling his most charming smile.

\---------

The night shift supervisor is making her rounds, her footsteps echoing down the silent hallway of the secure psychiatric ward.

Frowning, she notices the door to one of the patient rooms ajar. 

\---------

“Alison left instructions for us to call you,” Spencer explains, leading Wren and the girls back to the relative privacy of the barn. 

“Do you even know Alison?” Emily asks him, suspiciously.

“We have a bit of history,” Wren admits, his gaze flickering between Spencer’s neckline and Hanna’s legs. “You said she’s in trouble? A voluntary commitment?”

“Her husband is a psychiatrist,” Hanna confirms. “He’ll keep her locked up if he can.”

\---------------------

“Mrs. Rollins?” the supervisor calls out.

There’s no answer.

Alison’s bed is mussed, but empty. 

There’s no one in the room.

\--------------------

“That must be why she wanted us to reach out to you,” Spencer suggests. “You can consult on her case, or get her released under your care, maybe, since she has no history of psychiatric problems.”

Wren’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “That may be a bit of a sticky wicket, I’m afraid.”

“Why?” Mona asks, curiously. “You took patients in and out of Radley like you were checking out library books.”

“I’m not on staff at Springhill,” Wren explains. “And - I suppose it’s not something she’s discussed with you, but as it’s sure to come out now that we’re trying to get her released...although it’s not strictly my place to share -”

“Stop being so British and spit it out,” Hanna says, with a wave of her hand.

Wren nods. “Sorry. I was trying to break it to you gently, I suppose. The truth is - this isn’t Alison’s first time in a psychiatric hospital. That's where she was, the first year she went missing. She was institutionalized.”


	21. Unlikely Bedfellows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Again, these chapters are being posted without the having their usual fabulous once over from my awesome beta reader, Danielle. Not because she isn't excellent, but because I am still so behind that I didn't have any lead time. All mistakes are entirely my own. Except any typos, which I will blame on the cat._
> 
> \------

Wren nods. “Sorry. I was trying to break it to you gently, I suppose. The truth is - this isn’t Alison’s first time in a psychiatric hospital. We met during the year she went missing. When she was institutionalized.”

“When she was - what?” Emily says, stunned.

“A patient, at the mental hospital where I was interning outside of Chicago.” He looks at their shocked faces and tries to rearrange his face into more somber lines, but he can’t quite stop the edges of his mouth from quirking upward at the pleasure it gives him to be the center of attention.

“She was registered under the name of Vivian Darkbloom,” he continues. “She’d been pulled over for driving erratically, and tried to flee from the police on foot. It’s no wonder, really, since her license wasn’t valid. She pretended, quite convincingly, that she had amnesia and had no idea who she was. They sent her to us, where I think she imagined that she’d have a better chance of eventually escaping than if she’d been sent to jail.”

“But didn’t they run her prints?” Spencer asks, suspiciously. “Or recognize her face? Her case was all over the news!”

“Here in Pennsylvania, perhaps. But not in Illinois. And the Rosewood Police assumed she was a runaway. They didn’t bother to load her information into the national database of missing persons until she didn’t return after six months.”

“The Rosewood PD should be driving around in those tiny clown cars wearing those shiny hats,” Hanna declares.

“Shriner hats,” Spencer corrects her. “But point taken.”

“Unfortunately, Alison wasn’t fully cognizant of how grim the reality of life inside an institution would be. She was prescribed a medication regimen, and when she tried to refuse and resist, the staff had no choice but to restrain her. She started telling us she was a missing teenager from Pennsylvania, that she’d been attacked by an assailant and buried alive by her own mother, that she’d been pulled from the ground by a psychic. She was exhibiting classic signs of delusion. She thought her brother and his friends had been spying on her, recording videos through the windows. That she’d been receiving text messages from a faceless but omniscient enemy. You can imagine how it sounded! She seemed utterly paranoid, as if she were having a complete break with reality.”

“But you believed her?” Aria asks. 

“After I got to know her, over the course of several months, I took an interest,” Wren admits. “She could be very - persuasive.”

“What kind of interest?” Emily asks, looking nauseated. “She was fifteen! You were her doctor!”

Wren has the good grace to look a little abashed, shifting his eyes to the floor. “Alison gave the impression of being...quite worldly. She listed her age as 22 on her intake forms.”

“Alright,” Mona says, rolling her eyes. “Let’s all pretend you couldn’t spot a vulnerable teenage girl from a mile away. What happened to convince you that her crazy story wasn’t so crazy?”

“She told me her name,” Wren answers. “Which, in itself, it’s not unusual for people with certain types of disorders to fixate and fully imagine a different identity for themselves that’s based on a real person. But she cajoled me into calling her mother, and the number she gave me really did go through to Jessica DiLaurentis. It was a bad call, she thought I was a crank, and assured me in no uncertain terms that her daughter was dead and I should mind my own business. Before she could hang up on me, I agreed that it sounded like nonsense and apologized for troubling her, but worked in the detail that the young woman in my care claimed to have been buried alive in the backyard. Jessica became quite agitated, of course. So agitated that it was clear I’d struck a nerve.”

“Why didn’t you call the police?” Emily asks. 

“Alison begged me not too,” Wren replies. “She was very particular about who she felt she could trust. Again, she seemed quite irrational about it. Then, one day, her mother turned up.”

“Jessica knew?” Aria says, stunned. “She knew that Alison was alive?”

“Remember how she was acting? How she had her room all set up?” Hanna reminds them. “I mean, she gave away the parrot, but otherwise she might as well have been hanging up Welcome Home banners.”

“She did know,” Wren confirms. “But she refused to see Alison face to face, she settled for observing through a mirror of one way glass. She denied that Alison was her daughter.”

“Why?” Spencer muses, puzzled.

“Perhaps to keep her safely hidden,” Wren suggests, “Although I’ve never been entirely sure. But I saw the way she looked at her - the recognition. I lied to Alison, told her I hadn’t been able to reach her mother. She had me try to contact Cece Drake, but of course she had vanished as well. Carla Grunwald was in the hospital battling pneumonia, she wasn’t able to travel. Her grandmother in Georgia was in frail health, we didn’t want to risk the shock it would have caused.”

“Why didn’t she have you call us?” Emily asks. “We could have vouched for her. Our parents could have-”

“She wasn’t sure who her attacker was! Or who had been texting her! She suspected everyone: Spencer, Hanna, Aria’s father who she’d been blackmailing. She did trust you, Emily, but she couldn’t be sure that you wouldn’t let it slip to the others that she was alive.”

“We developed a plan. She slowly cut down on her insistence about the more salacious elements of her story, she pretended the medications and treatments were working. But we couldn’t release her until her identity was confirmed. Finally, she lit upon Noel Kahn, who came riding out to the rescue. He and his elder brother and one of their lawyers came down and signed notarized affidavits that she was Alison DiLaurentis, an old family friend with a history of mental health issues.”

“Once that was settled, the state was only too eager to release her, to get her off their hands. I was able to release her in June, and I was so intrigued by her story, so besotted, really - I quit my residency program and followed her back here. She spent the summer hiding out in the Kahn cabin, making lists and planning a strategy.”

Spencer takes a sharp breath. “She suspected me. She must have suspected Melissa.”

“She did,” Wren nods. “She sent me in as a spy. I was meant to find out if either of you had been behind the threatening texts. Meanwhile, Noel was trying to get close to Aria once she was back, and then Jenna and Mona later on.”

“Just like she sent Shana to Jenna,” Emily says, shaking her head. 

“Yes,” Wren agrees. “Although Shana’s initial target was Paige McCullers, it was quickly apparent she wasn’t a player.” He notes the way Spencer’s eyes are flashing angrily, and rests a hand on her knee, familiarly. “I’m sorry, Spencer. Truly, I am. I shouldn’t have deceived you, you deserved much better treatment. I got caught up in the cloak and dagger of it all! Alison has such an electric theatricality about her, I fancied myself in the role of white knight. A better looking James Bond.”

“You torched my relationship with my sister!” Spencer says, accusingly. “As part of one of Alison’s little games!”

“It was never my intention to hurt you,” Wren insists, moving his hand a bit further up Spencer’s thigh. “And although my motives were questionable, my feelings were genuine.” 

Spencer stands up and walks to the counter to pour herself a glass of wine. She leans against the arm of Aria’s chair instead of sitting back down. “Let’s not lose sight of why we’re here,” she says, swirling the liquid in her glass. “We need to get Alison out of Springhill. If Dr. Rollins is dead set against her release, it’s a good bet he already knows about her history.”

“Couldn’t we spin it?” Mona suggests. “If he has her records, they’ll show that she was treated successfully by Dr. Kingston, who is now willing to take her on as a patient again.”

“It won’t be good enough,” Wren says, his eyes still on Spencer. “He’s her psychiatrist and her next of kin. He has almost complete authority over her.”

“What if Alison had given someone else her Power of Attorney?” Spencer asks. “Before she signed herself in.”

“Someone other than Dr. Rollins?” Wren asks, pondering the question. “Depending on what type, it could make a difference. If it was durable, if it covered health care decisions, it would go into effect from the moment she became incapacitated - the moment she agreed to be committed.” 

Mona raises her hand excitedly. “Are you thinking forgery? Because I am so totally your girl!”

“Thanks for the offer,” Spencer replies, quirking her eyebrows in Hanna’s direction. “But Ali had a document signed and notarized. She gave it to Emily.”

“Wait - what?” Emily says. “You’re just telling me this now?”

“There’s been a lot going on!” Spencer replies.

“Oh my god!” Aria exclaims, clapping a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide. “You’re right! It’s been so crazy I totally forgot!”

“Forgot what?” Spencer asks.

“I never filed the paperwork for them! It’s not official! Alison and Dr. Rollins - they’re not legally married!”


	22. Once Removed

Emily wakes at the sound of a loud thump from outside the barn. Her shoulder aches from sleeping on the pull out couch, and she yawns extravagantly as her eyes squint at Spencer’s silhouette in the early morning light, already out of bed and heading to the door to investigate. 

She stands up and stretches, tiptoeing carefully around the air mattress where Hanna and Mona are sacked out. She joins Spencer, who is peering out the door in a pair of tailored pajamas. Everything seems quiet, there’s a chill in the morning air as they step outside, a the sound of birds twittering harmlessly. Then a faint sound of an engine in the distance. 

A black leather messenger bag is resting on the gravel, a few paces away, looking as if it were flung from a distance like a rolled up newspaper.

“Did you see anyone?” Emily asks, as they approach with caution.

“Just a flash of movement,” Spencer replies. “Someone running towards the woods.”

Emily lifts the flap, peaking at the contents. She lifts out one of the hardbacked journals and flips it open.

“We need to get these inside,” she says, urgently, looking around to make sure no one is watching them. “These were Charlotte’s. Alison found her diaries.”

\--------

“How did Mona make French toast?” Spencer mutters, stacking plates in the sink an hour later. “Did I even have eggs?”

Aria gives her a half smile. “I was surprised you had bread. I thought you probably chewed coffee beans straight from the bag.”

“Caleb,” Spencer says, his name already feeling painful in her throat. “He thought breakfast was the most important meal of the day.” She straightens her posture and smoothes her hair. 

“Have you heard from him?” Aria asks.

“It’s not important,” Spencer says, determinedly. “Who needs a man when you have multiple volumes of your ex-stalker’s diary to read through?” 

“Are you sure you don’t need any help?” Aria asks.

Spencer shakes her head. “I want to stay close to home. Keep an eye on Melissa.”

“My brother. Your sister. My - cousin,” Aria says. “All of a sudden our family trees are full of third suspects once removed.”

“Hey,” Spencer tells her, her voice softer than usual. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”

“But what if -”

“What if, nothing,” Spencer says. “It’s not your fault. You can’t choose your family.”

Aria pulls her into a tight hug. “You’re wrong about that. Alison may have chosen us to be her friends, but after all the threats and the drama and the almost dying - you’re my family, too.”

Spencer hugs her back, her eyes a little watery. “I have a rule about not getting sappy before ten.”

“Well then,” Aria smiles. “I better get going.” She hesitates, her hand on the doorknob. “Are you sure we should be trusting Mona?”

“She’s still Mona,” Spencer admits. “But things are - different now. She’s on our side.”

“What do you mean - things are different now?” Aria asks, curiously.

“You’re not the only one with a secret.”

\--------

Mona opens the rusted door of an abandoned factory on the edge of town. There is a fine layer of sawdust on the floor, brittle and grainy with age. She glances down, following a trail of fresh boot prints deeper into the building.

Sunlight streams in from a partially collapsed skylight, illuminating a figure sitting stiffly on a long bench across the room. Mona walks over and sits down, tapping a bearded Mike Montgomery on the knee. “Hey stranger,” she says. “Nice place you’ve got here.”

“Are you alone?” Mike asks, staring straight ahead.

“No one will hear me scream,” Mona replies, clocking a long look at the grey dust caked on his muscular forearms, the way his beard is separating into greasy looking curls, the wrinkled white t-shirt with alarming reddish brown stains that he’s wearing. 

“Did Aria tell you to call?”

“In a way,” Mona hedges. “She’s worried about you.”

“She doesn’t understand,” Mike says in a flat voice that’s deeper than Mona remembers. “She only sees the world through a key hole.”

“Then try me,” Mona suggests. “I’ve always been a big picture kind of gal.”

“This used to be a woodworking factory,” Mike says. “They built things. Furniture. Gazebos. Church pews. They took the souls of all the separate pieces of wood and nailed them together, made something new.” He spits, suddenly, at a shadow in the corner. “You were dead,” he says, looking directly at Mona for the first time. “You came back.”

“I’m sorry,” Mona says, sincerely. “I’m sorry for making that stupid plan, for forcing you to be a part of it.”

“What was it like? Did you hear his voice?” Mike whispers, his hand reaching out to run his fingers through the glossy curtain of Mona’s hair. “Because I hear it all the time.”

Mona doesn’t flinch, but she does take his hand and gently puts it back on his own knee.

“I think you need to talk to someone,” she tells him. “A doctor.”

“My head is clear,” Mike insists. “I found what I wanted. The first devil.”

“You need your meds,” Mona suggests. “I used to think God was talking to me by changing the notes in the hymnals, remember? It wasn’t God. It was a chemical imbalance.”

“A poisoned vine can spoil all the grapes. I found the first devil. The revelation.”

“What did you find?” Mona asks. “Who’s the first devil?”

“His sins,” Mike says. “The sins of my father.”

\------------

“This was a lovely idea,” Ella Montgomery says, an arm around Aria’s shoulders as they stroll through the Rosewood Antique Mall. “I’d love to surprise your father with a samovar. He’s wanted one ever since he read _Uncle Vanya_ in college.”

“Mom,” Aria says, rifling through a box of old camera lenses. “I need to ask you something. Why did you visit Charlotte?”

Ella’s eyebrows arch in surprise, her knuckles go white as she clutches the sleeve of her peasant blouse nervously. “Oh honey, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. Not after what she put you through.”

“What did you talk about?”

Ella hesitates before answering. “About her childhood, mostly. What it was like to grow up in that place. How her family abandoned her.”

“Did you know she was adopted?”

Ella doesn’t meet Aria’s eyes as she turns her back and pretends to examine an ornate candelabra. “Wherever did you hear that?”

“You don’t have to pretend,” Aria says, exasperated. “Just tell me the truth! About Charlotte and Mary Drake and Scott Montgomery.”

“Aria,” her mother says, her voice gentle. “Whatever you think you’ve pieced together, it’s not my place to -”

“Mom,” Aria cuts in. “We promised, remember? No more lying to each other for Dad.”

Ella bites her lip and nods. “You never knew your uncle, you were just a baby when he disappeared. He could be very charming, outgoing, the life of the party. He was older than your father, Byron always looked up to him. But he struggled with substance abuse. Of course, we realized later that he was self-medicating. Your grandparents took a tough love approach, they hadn’t spoken to him for almost a year before the car crash that killed them.” Ella pauses, wiping a tear from her eye. “After that, it fell to your father to try and take care of Scott.” 

_Byron was standing at the grill in the backyard, the smell of charcoal and steak sizzling in the air. “Radley has one of the best rehab programs in Pennsylvania,” he was saying._

_His brother sat at the red wooden picnic table, a dark look on his face. Despite the heat of the summer day, he was wearing a black long sleeved shirt and knit hat. He sipped moodily at his lemonade. “My drinking isn’t the problem.”_

_Byron laughed nervously, wiping a hand on his apron. “This again? You’re not crazy, Scott! You just need some help drying out.”_

_“I can be here, or I can be there,” Scott says, quietly. “The things in my head, they’ll follow me wherever I go.”_

_“That’s the liquor talking,” Byron says, firmly. “You can kick this. It’s all about willpower.”_

_\-----------------_

_“Calm down,” Ella implored her husband, as he paced angrily back and forth in their living room._

_“He was doing so much better!” Byron exclaims. “They were really helping him! And now this? He gets kicked out for having a quote ‘inappropriate relationship’ with some floozy?”_

_“Byron, she was a patient. It’s against the rules.”_

_“Don’t tell me about the rules! Who is this woman? For all we know she seduced my brother to sabotage his recovery!”_

_“Listen to yourself,” Ella said, incredulously. “You can’t know what was going through her head, or his. We don’t know why she was in there, she might be struggling with the same things he is.”_

_“So she’s a drunken lunatic!” Byron says, red in the face. “I don’t care what her story is! She’s ruined his best chance to put his life back together!”_

_\----------------_

_Ella waved a letter in front of her husband’s face. “We need to tell him, Byron. He would want to know.”_

_“No,” Byron replied, flatly. “She can tell him herself. I’m not getting involved.”_

_“She says she tried to reach him. You know how he falls off the grid for months at a time! What do you want her to do? Write to every cheap motel in the state? Every trailer park where he might be shacked up with his old drinking buddies? She wrote to us because he doesn’t have a fixed address.”_

_“She should have thought about that before she took advantage of him. She’s nothing but a gold digger, Ella! He probably mentioned the trust that my parents left for him and she saw a meal ticket! The joke’s on her! Scott is in no condition to raise a child!”_

_“Scott isn’t,” Ella said, giving him a long, appraising look. “But we are.”_

_“Are you crazy?” Byron said, looking at her in disbelief. “We don’t even know that it’s his! This Mary Drake could have been involved with dozens of different men! You’re just too soft-hearted to see her for what she is - an opportunistic con artist!”_

_“We want a family,” Ella said. “I know you’re upset. I know that you blame her for what happened. But this baby is going to be your niece or nephew, and babies can’t raise themselves.”_

_Byron’s eyes were hard, his face a picture of righteous fury. “This is her problem. I won’t make it ours. I’m going to answer her letter, tell her if she contacts us again, I’ll have her prosecuted for harassment.”_

_\-----------_

_It was a sunny day in late April when the next envelope arrived in the mail box. Ella opened it before Byron got home. It was a picture of the baby and a short note. She’d named him Charles. Her sister had agreed to adopt him._

_Ella stashed the letter in a drawer, but she looked at the picture of the baby for a long time. He looked so alone in the world, she thought. So vulnerable._

_\-------------_

_Ella was rocking Aria to sleep, singing her a lullaby when she heard the frantic knocking at the door. Aria started crying at the noise, and a disheveled woman with wild eyes burst into the room._

_“Please,” she said. “Please, you have to take him.”_

_“Who are you? Are you alright?” Ella asked, slightly alarmed._

_“I’m sorry,” she said, straightening up. “We haven’t met. My name is Jessica DiLaurentis.” She held out her hand regally for Ella to shake._

_“Several years ago,” she continued, “I agreed to care for my sister’s son. Your nephew. Unfortunately, my husband - our circumstances have changed. I was hoping you might be willing to take him on, as it were. Or perhaps tell me where I might find Scott Montgomery.”_

_“I’m sorry,” Ella replied, patting the baby gently on the back. “We barely see Scott anymore. The last time we saw him, he was working as a handyman at a run down motel out on Highway 6.”_

_Jessica nodded her thanks. “How old is she?” she asked, running a finger down Aria’s back. “My daughter was born in June.”_

_“Four months,” Ella answered. “She was born in July.”_

_“Isn’t that something,” Jessica said softly. “Maybe they’ll grow up together.”_

_\-----------------_

_“How could you?” Byron demanded._

_“What would you have me do?” Ella asked, exasperated. “She said her husband is determined they can’t keep him. Scott is his father, he has a right to know.”_

_“He’s barely holding it together! Do you have any idea what this is going to do to him?”_

_\-----------------_

_“I hope you’re happy!” Byron shouted. “I went out there to talk to him, and he’s gone! He left everything behind! They haven’t seen him since that woman showed up at his door!”_

_“If he’s gone, Byron, we need to do the right thing. We need to -”_

_“We are not bringing that child into the house, do you hear me? That woman poisons everything she touches!”_

_“This is a child we’re talking about!”_

_“A child who’s already inherited its mother’s instability! I talked to Kenneth DiLaurentis, to let him know what I thought of his wife barging in here! The boy is- funny, alright? He tried to boil their baby in the bathtub! We need to keep Aria safe!”_

_\-----------_

“So you would have done it? You would have taken Mary Drake’s baby?”

“It wasn’t up to me,” Ella says, regretfully. “I pressed the case with your father as well as I could, but he absolutely refused to budge. I was a young mother, I didn’t want to risk my marriage. I had no idea how the consequences of that decision would ripple, the effect it would have on you and your friends. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, after you were kidnapped. I wanted to, but your father convinced me it would do more harm than good.”

Aria shakes her head. “I would have wanted to know. If there was a reason she was targeting me. You shouldn’t have kept me in the dark.”

“We were still trying to protect you. We hired Clark Wilkins, he was on leave from the Pennsylvania BCI. We thought he could crack the case.”

“Is that why you visited Charlotte?”

“I wanted to apologize. To find out if it would have mattered. And it would have, I’m sure of it.”

“I don’t understand!” Aria tells her mother, confusion and pain etched across her face. “The whole story could have been different if Dad hadn’t been such a self-righteous jerk.”

“He was doing what he thought was best,” Ella counters. “He genuinely believed he was doing what was right for his family.”

“But why?” Aria says. “After everything that happened, everything you knew - why did you marry him again?”

“No more lies?” Ella asks.

“No more lies,” Aria begs. “I’m an adult, Mom. I can handle it.”

“The truth then,” Ella says, the corner of her mouth quirking up into a wry smile. “He needed an alibi.”

\----------

“Woah,” Mona says, when Mike finishes his story. “Did you see her that night? Did you -” she pauses before continuing as delicately as possible, “Do anything to her?”

“She fell. A long fall.”

“Did you see anyone else?”

“God and the devils were fighting. She should have had wings. It’s all Revelations,” Mike says. “I know things. I understand things, Mona. God talks to me. You don’t have to believe me, but he does.”

“I know it feels real,” Mona says, her voice full of compassion. “But it’s a symptom, Mike. I can tell you’re not sleeping. When was the last time you had something to eat? You’re in the middle of a break, and if you don’t get help, you’re going to fall even deeper in.”

“I don’t need to be fixed,” Mike tells her, animatedly. “I’m not broken. I’m not me when I’m on the pills. You know what it’s like.”

“You have to find the right balance,” Mona tells him, taking his hand. “Like searching for the perfect lipstick blend. Or a signature cocktail.”

“You seem happy,” Mike says, making a face that might be meant as a grin, but comes off as a grimace.

“I am.”

For a second, his face smooths, something in his eyes shifts. He looks just a little bit more like the boy he used to be, the one who kept dropping gummi bears in the woods, hoping she might still be alive to get them. “You got what you wanted, didn’t you? I always knew you would. Someday.”

“You know what else I want? I want you to call your sister. And your doctor.”

Mike doesn’t agree or disagree. He stares off into the distance.

“Okay,” Mona says finally. “Just promise you’ll pick up if I call.”

“Always,” Mike agrees. “God is on your side.”

\-----------

Mona walks out of the building, shutting the heavy door behind her. She exhales slowly, clutches her purse close to her body as she walks to the car and opens the passenger side door.

“I was starting to worry,” Hanna says tapping her nails on the steering wheel. “Another two minutes and I was gonna bust in with guns blazing.”

“You have guns?”

“No,” Hanna says. “But I have hair spray. And I was ready to use it.” Her expression becomes more serious as she senses Mona’s mood. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Mona assures her. “It was hard seeing him like that.”

“Did he do it?”

Mona shakes her head. “He didn’t. But he’s been off his meds for weeks. He’d make an excellent fall guy.”

“We won’t let that happen,” Hanna promises, reaching a hand out to squeeze Mona’s knee reassuringly.

“Thank you,” Mona says, resting a hand on top of Hanna’s.

“For what?” Hanna asks, interlacing their fingers.

“For letting us be a we.”

Hanna holds Mona’s gaze, her blue eyes steady and inviting. “We were always a we. It just took me awhile to figure out what kind of a we, we are.” 

Mona’s smile looks almost shy, a little girlish, as if she’s fourteen again and stealing glances at Hanna from across a crowded lunch room. But Hanna isn’t nearly so far away now, as she runs a fingertip along Mona’s jawline, then tilts her face forward and brushes their lips together. Mona closes her eyes and kisses back eagerly.

“I thought we were trying to be careful,” Mona says, a little breathless as they break apart. “This is Rosewood. The bad guys could be watching us right now.” 

“So what?” Hanna says, grinning hugely as she leans in for another kiss. “We’ll make sure to steam up the car windows.”


	23. Back Against the Wall

Spencer sits cross-legged on the couch, flipping through the small stack of Charlotte’s diaries.

She’s making a conscious effort to not look at her phone, to not keep checking for messages from Caleb. Her heart had lurched when a message came in late last night, but it was from Wren, texting her his room number at the Radley “just in case.”

She’s working on a way to cross reference the visitors logs and the journals, to try and determine who Charlotte was working for or with, what she might have written about them. She used code names, scrawling notes that ran for pages without giving any solid identifying features. She runs a hand through her hair in exasperation, then glances apprehensively toward the door at the unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps approaching.

Toby knocks politely, but doesn’t wait for Spencer to answer before letting himself in. Spencer smiles as she snaps the books shut, sliding two of them under the couch with her foot.

“Hey,” Toby says. 

“Hey,” Spencer replies, casually tossing a throw pillow over one of the visitor logs.

“Sorry for dropping by like this,” Toby says, shoving his hands awkwardly in his back pockets. “I just wanted to check in. Make sure you were okay.”

“I’ve had better weeks,” Spencer says. “But I’m fine.”

“You’re always fine,” Toby remarks. “Even when you’re not.”

“What about you?” Spencer asks. “Desk duty?”

“Only a few days worth. Internal Affairs worked me over pretty hard, but it was a clean shoot, and Lucas isn’t going to sue.” He shrugs, in a noncommittal way. “I should be back out protecting and serving before you know it.”

“Good,” Spencer tells him, nervously. “That’s good.”

“Is Caleb around?” Toby asks, peering at the freshly made bed.

“No,” Spencer answers, making an effort to keep the bitterness to a minimum. “He’s not.”

“I told Yvonne and her mother, I’m sure it wasn’t him.”

“Of course it wasn’t. They’re still investigating, but we proved the hack didn’t originate from his computer.”

“Wow,” Toby says, with a half-smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “That was fast.”

“Lucky for us,” Spencer nods.

“Do you mind if I sit down?” Toby asks, not waiting for an answer before he making himself comfortable on the couch.

“I was actually on my way out,” Spencer hedges.

“Don’t lie to me, Spencer,” Toby says, amicably. “You have a freshly brewed pot of coffee on the stove. You expect me to believe you’d ever waste that much caffeine?”

Spencer laughs, pouring them both large mugs and handing one to Toby. “You’ll make detective yet.”

“That’s why I’m here, actually. I was hoping you could tell me whatever you know. About this new threat.”

“If I knew who it was, you’d be the first person I’d call,” Spencer says.

“But you’re working on it,” Toby insists. “I know you, Spencer. You’re investigating. You’re following up on clues. Let me help you.”

“This isn’t like last time. You don’t have to be involved.”

“I’m already involved. Honestly, I could use a win. If I crack this case, they’ll have to promote me.”

Spencer frowns. “We’re looking into Mary Drake. And it seems like Dr. Rollins might be working with her. Can you run background checks on the two of them?”  
“I can. But if you tell me where you’re going with this - I can get warrants, do searches, pull people over.”

“And find yourself right back in front of internal affairs for abusing your power on behalf of your ex-girlfriend.”

A sour expression comes over Toby’s face at her words, and he shifts his position on the couch, dislodging the throw pillow to reveal the visitor log from Springhill.

Spencer makes a grab for it, but she isn’t fast enough.

“What is this?” Toby asks, sharply. “Spencer, where did you get this?”

“It’s nothing,” Spencer assures him. “We’re checking Charlotte’s visitors to see who she was in contact with.”

“So you stole this. What else have you got?” He puts the visitor log under his arm and starts checking under the magazines on the coffee table, between the cushions of the couch. Spencer closes her eyes as his boot knocks against the diaries.

“Stop it,” Spencer orders. “This doesn’t concern you anymore.”

“Don’t patronize me,” Toby says, pulling the two journals out of their hiding place and flipping them open. His face darkens. “She wrote it all down? And you have the diaries?”

“They’re Alison’s,” Spencer insists. “She’s Charlotte’s next of kin. She gave them to me to read through, that’s all.”

“Spencer, these are _evidence_ ,” Toby says, incredulously. “Charlotte was murdered, and there could be important information about her killer in here!” He waves the volumes at Spencer, his voice so loud it borders on shouting. 

“Exactly,” Spencer says, her face hard. “Which is why I’d rather not turn them over to the police, where - no offense - they’ll either get stolen, or used to railroad us into more criminal charges.”

“That’s not going to happen this time.”

“It’s what happens every time.”

“You have to let me take these.”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“You can either deal with me, or I can call Lorenzo and Tanner. Would you rather have this conversation with them? Because they aren’t going to buy your story about Alison just happening to have these any more than I do. And I’ll bet they’ll be a lot less polite about saying so.”

Spencer looks at him, her eyes blazing. “You are not going to do that.”

Toby takes a step towards her, wrapping his fingers around her forearms to force her to look at him. “You don’t get to give me orders!” He’s looking at her with an intensity that seems less about justice than desire. “You said it yourself, Spence. You’re not my girlfriend anymore.”

Spencer looks at him in disbelief, unsure what exactly he’s implying, but she doesn’t have to wonder long as he pulls her against towards him and kisses her. She twists away, taking a large step backwards to get some distance between them. 

“We can’t,” she says. 

“Why not?” Toby demands. “We’re the same people we’ve always been. We fit together. We make sense. We talk like we used to talk. We fight like we used to fight.”

“You’re practically engaged to Yvonne.”

“I loved you first. I would have married you! I told you that was what I wanted, that day-”

“It isn’t what I want,” Spencer says, firmly. “You’re my friend, and I care about you. But you can’t bully us back together.”

“Bully?” Toby bristles. “I was trying to give you a chance. To keep you out of trouble!”

“Oh my god,” Spencer says, not sure whether to laugh or cry. “You’re just like the rest of them! Is that actually in the police handbook? That’s probably the same line Wilden used on Hanna’s mom! That Holbrook used on Alison!”

“That’s not the same thing,” Toby insists, angrily. “I want to help you!”

“Then listen to what I’m saying!” Spencer exclaims. “Don’t just decide what’s best for me!”

“You always know what’s best for both of us,” Toby says, an ugly sneer distorting his features. “Is this about Caleb? Because he’s not a choir boy, either.”

“This has nothing to do with Caleb! This is about you and me.”

“Alright,” Toby says. “It’s fine. You’ve made your choice. I’ve made mine.” He takes out his phone and pulls up the contact info for the Rosewood Police. He lets his thumb hover above the green call button. “Don’t make me do this.”

“I’m not making you do anything.”

“They’ll come in with a warrant. There’s still a few stray photographers out front. It’ll be the lead story on the six o’clock news.”

“It won’t be,” Spencer says, her voice hard, with a layer of sadness and resignation underneath. “You’re not going to call it in.”

“Give me a reason not to,” Toby insists, moving his thumb a centimeter closer to the call button.

“Lucas could change his mind,” Spencer says quietly. “He paid a $500,000 ransom and took two bullets for Hanna. Do you really think he wouldn’t call in his lawyers if she asked him to?”

Toby’s jaw ripples with concealed fury as he stuffs his phone back into his pocket. “You do _not_ want me as your enemy, Spencer!” He throws the visitor log and the two diaries to the floor in a fit of pique.

“Is everything okay in here?” Melissa asks, appearing in the doorway. She eyes the scene suspiciously, noting Toby’s angry glare and Spencer’s defensive posture. “I heard shouting.”

“It’s fine,” Spencer says. “Toby was just leaving.” 

“Good idea,” Melissa comments, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him the most glacial look in her repertoire.

Toby stomps out, shooting Spencer one last furious look as he storms past.

“What was that about?” Melissa asks, watching Toby’s retreating back.

“Nothing,” Spencer lies. 

“It didn’t sound like nothing,” Melissa observes. “I could hear him bellowing from the kitchen.”

Spencer shrugs, holding her ground. “It was nothing. Like I said.”

“Fine,” Melissa says, her expression a mix of concern and irritation. “Have it your way. But I need to borrow your car. Mine won’t start.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“Do I look like a mechanic? It. Won’t. Start. I have an appointment. I don’t want to be late.”

“What kind of appointment?”

“Haven’t you and your friends invaded my privacy enough?” Melissa asks. “Forget it. I’ll get an Uber.”

“You don’t need to do that,” Spencer says, fishing her keys out of her purse and tossing them to her sister.

“Thanks,” Melissa says, catching the keys one handed. She turns to leave, then calls out over her shoulder. “And Spencer? Don’t ever let him talk to you like that again.”

\--------

The pot of coffee that she shared with Toby has cooled to a tepid room temperature by the time Spencer hears a tentative tapping at the door of the barn.

She looks out the window and sees Caleb standing there uncertainly. She opens the door, but doesn’t invite him inside, regarding him warily.

“I thought I’d hear from you as soon as you were out of custody.”

Caleb looks down. “I’m violating a restraining order to see you. If that counts for anything.”

“Maybe,” Spencer admits, grudgingly.

“I’d rather not have your folks call the police on me, if that’s okay. Can we - go somewhere?”

Spencer doesn’t say yes or no, but she goes back inside to grab her coat, locks the door carefully behind her as she leads him into the woods, away from the main house and all its windows.

They walk in silence, Caleb leading the way. Spencer realizes where they’re heading a few minutes before it comes into sight. The shed in the woods. The one they pretended Alison had been staying in after escaping from her faux-kidnapper.

“Welcome,” Caleb says, opening the door. “To my very humble abode”

“Wow,” Spencer says. “I bet it looked a lot bigger on Airbnb.”

“It had really great reviews! Probably written by raccoons, but still.” 

He smiles at her, and Spencer forces down the swell of affection that’s threatening to burst through her better judgement. She looks for a place to sit, folding her coat into a cushion before carefully settling on an overturned milk crate. Caleb sits on the floor, next to her, his back against the wall.

“I wanted to thank you,” Caleb says. “When I left the barn the other night, I thought you hated me. But you had Jason send in those lawyers. You traced the source of the hack well enough to prove I wasn’t behind it. It made me wonder if you might be willing to give me another chance. Let me plead temporary insanity, okay? It was a crazy situation and I got tripped up by the past. It won’t happen again, I swear.”

Spencer studies his face. “You’re asking me to forgive you?”

“I am,” Caleb says. “But there’s more. If you’re going to take me back, you have to be able to trust me. And that means there are some things I need to tell you. Some things I’m going to need forgiveness for.”

“Caleb, you’re scaring me.”

“It’s not like that,” Caleb assures her. He looks around at the shed, the moldy bedsheets and rotten leaves scattered across the floor. “I used to stay here, sometimes, when I first came to town.”

“I didn’t know that. Hanna said you were sleeping in the school before you moved into her basement.”

Caleb’s mouth transforms into a hard line at the mention of Hanna’s name. “Hanna didn’t know. This part of the truth - I never told her. I stayed here because I needed a place to crash, somewhere under the radar. I had an arrangement with my foster mom. She could keep the money from social services, she just had to fill out the paperwork to bring me here.”

“They didn’t just assign you to her?”

Caleb shakes his head. “After everything that went down in Allentown, I spent a few months in juvie. I was doing whatever I could to get by, to get out of there. I got friendly with a guy who knew a guy who knew someone in Rosewood who needed some help, who was willing to pay pretty well for it.” 

“What was the job?” Spencer asks, her stomach already feeling sick.

Caleb looks like he’s visibly steeling himself to deliver the next words. He puts a hand on her knee and looks directly at Spencer, his expression like a prisoner in front of the firing squad. “Jenna put the word out through Toby. They needed someone to try and steal back the N.A.T. club videos.”

Spencer moves away from him so quickly she knocks over the milk crate.

“Don’t,” Caleb pleads, standing up. “Don’t jump away like you’ve just seen a snake. Just hear me out.”

“I have seen a snake,” Spencer says. “You lied to me! You lied to Hanna! For years!”

“I know,” Caleb says, “I know. But I didn’t know you back then. It was a job. It sounded easy. Search your computers. Find the flash drives. Get paid ten grand for a few weeks of work.”

“Where did Jenna get that kind of money?” Spencer asks, suspicious.

“Jenna was the contact, not the purse strings,” Caleb replies. “The money - and it was a lot of money, Spencer. Enough that I could have new clothes and hot food and a fresh start. But it wasn’t coming from Jenna. The money - it was put up by Melissa.”

“No,” Spencer says, flatly. “You’re lying.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Why would you do anything? Why would you stick around and pretend to be helping us all those years?”

“I wasn’t pretending. I mean, at first - yes. But once I got to know Hanna -”

“Got to know her as more than a mark, you mean.”

“Once I started to have real feelings for Hanna, I called it off.”

“She caught you. She knew you gave Jenna the flash drive in that owl.”

“And she was so mad - how could I tell her the truth? That I copied all the files on Emily’s phone? That Coach Thomas gave me your computer to scrub? That I rummaged through Hanna’s dresser drawers for a flash drive?”

“I don’t want to hear any more,” Spencer says, disgusted. “I trusted you! We all trusted you! We thought you were on our side!”

“I was on your side! I’ve been on your side for years! I did everything I could to help you!”

“Except telling us the truth.”

“I was stupid, okay? For the first time in my life, I felt like I belonged somewhere. I didn’t want to risk losing it! And the N.A.T. videos didn’t have anything to do with ‘A’. At least, not then.”

Spencer bites back an angry retort, tries to force herself to stay calm. “What do you mean, not then?”

He sighs. “They caught more than kid’s stuff on those cameras. And now that we know about Mary Drake - it might be important now.” 

“We saw the N.A.T. videos that Alison stole,” Spencer frowns. “They didn’t have anything to do with Mary Drake.”

“She wasn’t the only one who stole some of their videos. She copied some from Ian’s computer, sure, but you stole the mother lode without even realizing it.”

Spencer stares at him in confusion, waiting for him to continue.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why Melissa still had that essay on her computer? Seven years and two computers after she took Russian history?”

“No,” Spencer whispers, her voice small.

“That paper was the window dressing. The file itself was a secret drawer chock full of the N.A.T. club’s dirtiest dirt. That’s why everyone was so sure one of you had the files that Alison made off with - how else would you have known to look for more?” 

“I didn’t,” Spencer says, clearly blindsided. “I had no idea. About a lot of things, apparently.”

“I’m sorry,” Caleb says, approaching her carefully, as if she’s a wounded animal. “But this is how important you are to me. If we’re ever going to work things out, we can’t have any more secrets.” He fishes a flash drive out of his pocket. “I made a copy. For insurance. You should take a look.”

Spencer takes it from him, flinching a little at the feel of his fingertips against her palm. She closes her fist.

“No more secrets,” she repeats, woodenly. 

“Spencer,” he says. “You know me. I am who I’ve always been. Someone who cares about you. Who wants to help you and protect you.”

“Why were you so angry? When Mona showed up at the Lost Woods Resort?”

Caleb’s mouth turns down at the sound of Mona’s name. “You know how I feel about her. She’s crazy and unbalanced. And always working her own agenda.”

“So it had nothing to do with Hanna?”

Caleb’s eyes narrow to a pained squint. “She told you.”

“She told me about Miami.”

“Mona took advantage of her. My plane was barely off the ground! She swooped in and seduced Hanna when she was vulnerable!”

“That’s not the way Hanna tells it. You’re jealous, Caleb. You were jealous that night. Either you’re lying to yourself, or you’re lying to me.”

“All I can do is tell you how sorry I am. For everything. I’m trying to earn your trust back, but you have to give me a chance.”

“Do you love me?”

“What?”

“Do you love me?” Spencer asks, insistently. “Because even before the plan went south, I told you how I felt about you. I was honest about my feelings, and you didn’t answer me. I need you to be honest with me now.”

Caleb hesitates, so slightly that another woman might not even notice the pause of him drawing breath, the slight reluctance before he meets her eyes. Spencer notices. Once this is all over, she thinks, she’ll come back here and burn this stupid shed to the ground.

“I was falling in love with you,” Caleb says, honestly. “A little more each day.”

“But you weren’t there. You’re not. And we don’t have any more days left.”

“Don’t say that.”

“There’s no way to fix this. I need you to love me as much as I love you. I need you to not be in love with my best friend. Neither of those things are possible right now.”

“Spencer, please -”

“I need you to leave. Go back to D.C. or New York or Casablanca. You can’t stay here. I can’t be with you and be constantly wondering if you’re thinking about her when you kiss me! That’s not fair to either of us.”

“We’re in this together,” Caleb insists. “I can’t just walk away!”

“If you stay here, you’ll come between us. If you ever cared about me, or about Hanna, you have to go.”

Caleb runs a hand through his hair. “This wasn’t how I wanted things to turn out.”

“I know,” Spencer tells him. “You were right. You did help us.” She opens her hand to look at the flash drive, thinking about the scar on his abdomen, the way Hanna screamed as he got loaded into the ambulance. “This is the last thing we need you to do for us. The most important one.”

Caleb wipes his eyes furiously with the back of his hand. “I get it,” he says, hoarsely. “I do. I won’t make you ask again.” He shoulders his knapsack and gives her a long look. “I guess this is it, then.” He puts an arm around Spencer’s waist to hug goodbye, and then she’s standing on her tiptoes to kiss him one last time. The kiss is salty with tears and the taste of lost hope, the tang of regret heavy on their tongues. 

“You can always call me,” Caleb promises. “Anytime. Anywhere.”

“I know.”

He can’t stand to say goodbye, so he just opens the door and walks out. Spencer watches until he’s out of sight, then sinks to the floor and starts sobbing. She cries, feeling more broken and lost and alone with every heave of her chest. Eventually she takes a deep breath, then another, bringing the storm of emotions back under control. Slowly, she gets to her feet and starts walking resolutely back towards the house.

She sees sunlight shimmering on the shards of broken glass the moment she emerges from the treeline. She breaks into a run, arriving at the barn door with her heart in her throat and her chest heaving. She’s already too late, she realizes, examining the broken pane about the door handle. 

The interior of the barn is in complete disarray, drawers are strewn across the floor, the couch cushions sliced through so that heaps of stuffing are poking out, her jewelry box is smashed to pieces and all the evidence from the bulletin board, all of Charlotte’s diaries, even the Springhill visitor logs - it’s all gone.


	24. Among the Missing

Emily Fields stalks into the lobby of the Springhill Mental Hospital flanked by Wren Kingston and Jason DiLaurentis. She marches determinedly to the desk, the boys a few paces behind. “We’re here to pick up Alison DiLaurentis,” she announces.

The woman at the reception desk doesn’t even blink. “Not without permission, you’re not.”

“We need to speak to whoever’s in charge,” Jason insists. 

“That would be Dr. Rollins.”

“Ah,” Wren says, shooting her his most charming smile. “I’m afraid we have a bit of a problem there. He’s the primary reason we’re interested in removing her from this facility for her treatment, you see.”

This leads to a frustratingly long period of sitting outside the director’s office, waiting to get in to speak with her. Wren passes the time by flirting with the nurses. Jason’s phone never leaves his hand as he types out emails and text messages trying to get his business back in order. Emily stares out the window, thinking about Alison. About whether she means it this time, or whether it would be just one more time of Alison wringing Emily’s heart like a sponge. Squeezing until it’s nothing but a dried out hulk.

Reluctantly, she lets herself consider the answer to Alison’s question about whether she’d been happy in California. Of course she hadn’t been. She hadn’t been happy, really happy, since before her father’s funeral. Her mind drifts back to her first visit to the fertility clinic, the question that the counselor asked about whether she wanted to have children of her own someday. For all that she’s tried to put her feelings for Alison firmly in the past, she still hasn’t forgotten how readily Ali’s face came to mind in that moment. Her promises about them being a family echoing hollow in Emily’s ears.

And then she sees Alison herself being led down the hallway, a beefy orderly clasping her arm. When she comes closer, Emily sees that one of her eyes is puffy and bruised. All of Emily’s uncertainties drain away as a surge of protectiveness courses through her. She’s on her feet before Jason even looks up, rushing to Alison’s side.

“What happened?” she asks. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Alison says, trying to shake off the orderly. “Although I’d better if this oaf would quit manhandling me.”

The orderly ignores her, keeping his grip on her arm as he leads them to the director’s door.

Emily, Jason, and Wren follow them inside, to find Dr. Rollins already seated in one of the leather armchairs. The director is standing behind the desk. “I’m Dr. Yang,” she informs them. I understand you wish to remove Mrs. Rollins from our care?”

“Look at her!” Emily declares, resting a hand on the small of Alison’s back. “We’re checking her out of here today. Immediately.”

“There was an incident last night,” Dr. Yang explains. “She had a breakdown and attacked her husband.”

“She hit me over the head,” Rollins adds, almost smiling at their surprise. “Knocked me out and tried to tie me up in a closet before the night shift supervisor discovered she was missing from her room.”

“How did she get out of her room?” Wren asks mildly. “Just wondering, of course. Since you are a secure facility.”

“She took my pass key,” Dr. Rollins frowns. “I was looking in on her.”

“He was trying to strangle me,” Alison explains, sounding annoyed. 

 

“Enough with these wild accusations,” Rollins says. “This goes to show how agitated she is. How desperately she needs to be medicated and monitored. I’ve switched her patient status to reflect involuntary commitment. You can’t just check her out as if this were a hotel.”

“He’s right,” Dr. Yang agrees. “Dr. Rollins is her husband as well as her psychiatrist. The decision rests with him.”

“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” Alison protests.

“Is this the way you run your hospital?” Wren inquires. “I believe it’s generally considered inappropriate for a doctor to be involved with his patients. At least, that’s what I hear.” He shoots a sidelong glance at Alison, stops just short of winking. Emily steps on his foot, hard.

“Also,” Jason says, sliding his phone into his pocket, “I’m her next of kin. We have new information about their marriage. The paperwork was never filed by the officiant. I’m her brother. Legally, I’m still her next of kin.”

“Is this true?” Dr. Yang asks Dr. Rollins, who’s staring at the three of them murderously.

“And I have Power of Attorney,” Emily announces. “We’re taking her home.”

“Not so fast,” Dr. Rollins says, smoothly. “I’m afraid Alison is still delusional and highly unstable. She’s a danger to herself and others. She has a documented history of mental disturbance dating from the time she was fourteen years old. She fabricated an elaborate tale of kidnap which hindered the police investigation into her disappearance. She’s pathological. She’s not well enough to be released without being under the close supervision of a qualified medical professional.”

“Elliot, I’d like you to meet Wren Kingston,” Emily says. “Dr. Kingston. He’s treated Alison before.” 

Rollins tries to keep his composure, but it’s a losing battle. “We don’t have times for whatever childish games you’re playing at. Alison signed herself into treatment here. It’s no longer voluntary. She can’t leave.”

Jason is texting on his phone again when Emily smacks his arm. “Focus,” she hisses.

Just then the office door bursts open, and Peter Hastings enters in a cloud of expensive smelling cologne.

“Sorry for barging in,” he says, tugging on the sleeves of his power suit. “My son tells me there’s some difficulty regarding his sister’s release?”

Jason gives Emily a subtle thumbs up gesture as Peter continues. “I’m sure, given the respective claims of Ms. Fields and Mr. DiLaurentis, as well as the fact that Dr. Rollins is not legally married to this young women, and the assurances of Dr. Kingston,” he says, pursing his lips as if saying Wren’s name leaves a bad taste in his mouth, “the legalities couldn’t possibly be in question.”

“Well -” Dr. Yang says. “We may need to consult with our legal staff to-”

“To find out that I can easily be back here in thirty minutes with a court order?” Peter asks. “Or to consult with them about the liability issues related to Dr. Rollins attacking Ms. DiLaurentis while she was under your care?”

“Are you trying to threaten us?” Dr. Rollins asks, standing up. “Into releasing a mentally ill woman - putting her back out on the streets against our best medical judgement? Because I don’t think that would look very well to your wife’s constituents, would it?”

“It’s funny you bring up my wife,” Peter says, arching an eyebrow in the same way that Spencer does right before she moves in for the kill on the tennis court. “Because she is _very_ interested in proposing legislation that would lead to more oversight and regulation of privately run psychiatric facilities. Especially ones that receive such generous tax abatements from the state government.”

“They might also be interested in this,” Emily suggests, pulling the photo of Charlotte and Dr. Rollins out of her purse and flinging it on Dr. Yang’s desk. A trusted staff member with a clear pattern of using his position to take advantage of the women in his care.”

“Yes,” Dr. Yang squeaks. “Well. It seems these young people do have everything in order.”

Alison shrugs off the orderly’s hand triumphantly. 

\--------

Twenty minutes of paperwork later, Alison is cleared to leave, and Dr. Rollins has been led off to the Human Resources office by security.

Alison hasn’t let go of Emily’s hand since hearing that she’s free to go. “We’ll just be a minute,” she tells Jason. “I want to pack my things.”

She leads Emily back to her room and closes the door firmly behind them.

\-------

Outside in the hallway, Wren catches sight of a particularly attractive looking nurse making the rounds with the medicine cart. “I’ll just be -” he gestures in her direction as Peter gives him a look of undisguised contempt.

“Thank you,” Jason tells his father.

“I’m glad you called,” Peter responds. “If there’s ever anything I can do for you, Jason - I hope you know that I’m here for you.”

“There is something,” Jason says, drawing himself up to his full height. “You can tell me about Mary Drake.”

\--------

Alison’s room feels close and small, Emily feels some of her indignation fading, being replaced by a lump of nerves gathering in her throat. 

She busies herself finding Alison’s oversized tote from the closet, tossing it on the bed. 

“You don’t have to do that,” Alison says, a little awkwardly.

Emily turns around and sees that the puffiness around Alison’s eye is turning into a deep and purplish bruise. “He tried to kill you,” Emily says softly.

“But he didn’t,” Alison says, the faint trace of a smile ghosting across her face. “I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

“Don’t,” Emily says, brushing the hair off Alison’s neck to examine the raw marks on her skin. “It’s not funny.”

“I know,” Alison admits. “But it’s over now. I found Charlotte’s journals. Elliot showed his true colors. You came storming in here and got me released.” She looks at Emily through downcast eyelashes.

“I don’t want to go back to that house tonight,” Alison tells her. She puts a hand gently on Emily’s shoulder. “Maybe we could get a room at the Radley? We could talk all night if you want. Or not talk. Order a big room service breakfast in the morning. My treat.”

“Ali -”

“Don’t say no,” Alison says, moving closer and resting her head against Emily’s shoulder. Emily puts an arm around her protectively.

“I’m not saying no,” Emily says, shyly.

Alison smiles victoriously, slips a hand around the back of Emily’s neck and leans in to kiss her.

Emily kisses her back, overcome by the smouldering electric charge that always comes from being with Alison. Emily is taken aback by the fact that Ali doesn’t taste like Jungle Red lipstick, then she realizes Alison isn’t wearing any makeup at all. It’s as if there’s nothing standing between them anymore, not now that Ali is tangling a hand in her hair eagerly, kissing her with so much intensity that it’s as if she is really certain this time. It’s new and it’s real and it feels intoxicating.

“I never stopped loving you,” Alison says, earnestly. “I’m not running away this time. I promise.”

Emily lets out a breath she didn’t even realize she’d been holding. “I’ve loved you since I was fourteen years old, Ali.”

Alison kisses her again, lightly. “I’m so glad you never got over it.”

They’re interrupted by a loud crash outside the door. Emily reluctantly breaks away and goes to check on the source of the noise. Alison trails after her, unwilling to let go of Emily’s hand.

Jason and Peter and standing a little distance down the hall, talking with serious expressions.

The medicine cart is on its side as Wren kneels next to it trying to scoop up displaced pill bottles and patient charts. “I’m terribly sorry,” he’s saying to the nurse, “Entirely my fault, of course. Perhaps I could make it up to you with dinner?”

The nurse is crouched down and facing away from Emily as she shakes her head, and Alison is quickly tugging Emily back into the room as Wren perseveres. 

“Are you sure we haven’t met? I never forget a pretty face.”

“I believe that,” the nurse deadpans.

Emily’s neck whips around at the sound of her voice. It can’t be. But she rights the cart and stands up, her face clearly visible for the first time. Emily senses Alison tensing up behind her, but she’s too shocked to tear her eyes away. 

“Oh my god,” Emily says, sinking against the doorjamb for support. _“MAYA?”_

\-----------

Spencer’s phone rings just as she’s emptying a dust pan of debris into the trash. She sees that the call is coming from the Rosewood PD and picks up immediately.

“Four words,” she says. “Illegal search and seizure.”

“Spencer?” Lorenzo Calderon’s voice asks, puzzled.

Spencer coughs. “Sorry,” she says. “I was expecting someone else.”

“Clearly,” Lorenzo says, sounding less than amused. “Where are you? Are you alright?”

“I’m at home,” Spencer says, cautiously. “Why are you calling, Lorenzo?”

“Were you driving your car this afternoon?”

“No,” Spencer says. “Did Melissa run over a puppy or something?”

“Your sister was driving?” Lorenzo asks, sharply.

“Yes,” Spencer replies. “What is this about?”

“Your car was found abandoned on the side of Route 6.”

“Where’s Melissa? Is she okay?”

“There was no driver found at the scene. Just the unlocked car, and - I’m afraid there were signs of a struggle.”

“What kind of signs?” Spencer asks, her insides going cold.

“The entire front seat. It was covered in blood.”


	25. The Heart Wants What It Wants

“Oh my god,” Emily says, sinking against the doorjamb for support. _“MAYA?”_

Maya St. Germain, the look on her face much more awkward than any Emily can ever remember seeing, swallows hard. “Emily,” she says, nervously. Emily feels overwhelmed by every single thing about this situation, disoriented as the time she cracked her head against the side of the pool, when everything went fuzzy and quiet. Then Maya gives her small smile, a ghost of the carefree grin that dragged Emily out of the closet all those years ago, and Emily feels herself smiling back.

“It’s really you?” Emily asks, stepping forward and putting a hand against Maya’s cheek to check that she’s not a hologram or hallucination or a sick masked version of Sara Harvey. But Maya’s skin is smooth and warm to the touch. Her eyes flutter closed for the briefest of moments at Emily’s touch. It’s not a mask, Emily realizes. Maya looks like she could have walked right out of her yearbook picture, but her eyes are more serious, her hair is a little shorter but still a mass of untamed curls. She’s alive, she’s not a teenager anymore, she’s standing right in front of Emily wearing a white nurse’s uniform and a nametag that identifies her as Kendra.

“It’s me,” Maya says, recovering a trace of her old aplomb. “In the flesh.”

“But how-”

She feels a hand clutching her arm, and turns to see Alison regarding the situation through narrowed eyes. “This is all very touching,” Alison interjects, coldly. “But I’m sure it’s a long story, and we need to leave. _Now._ ”

Emily looks at her as if she’s not even speaking English.

“If you two need to catch up,” Wren offers, his gaze on Emily’s hand still on Maya’s cheek, “Alison, I’m sure that Jason or I could be of service. I’ll drop you wherever you like.”

“I need to see Spencer,” Jason announces, striding towards them. “I’ll take you to the barn.”

Alison removes her hand from Emily’s arm. “Emily,” she says, summoning a commanding tone. Then her voice softens, becomes almost vulnerable. “Come on.”

Maya ignores everyone who isn’t Emily. “Let’s go outside,” she suggests.

Emily nods, as Alison puts an imperious hand out in a stop motion towards Maya.

“Give us a minute,” Ali hisses, pulling a confused Emily around the corner.

“What’s wrong with you?” Emily protests. “Do you know who that is? It’s Maya! She’s not dead!”

“I know,” Alison says, sounding a little regretful. “I know who she is, probably better than you do. But this doesn’t change anything, does it?”

“It changes everything,” Emily says, without thinking. She senses how Alison stiffens at her words, and then catches on. “Ali, I haven’t seen her in years. It’s not like that.”

“It’s not going to be like when I came back?” Alison asks, carefully. 

“That was different,” Emily assures her. “I never stopped loving you.”

“You never stop loving anyone. That’s what worries me.”

\------------

Ten minutes later, the others are finally gone, Alison casting a last baleful look out of the window of Jason’s car. Emily and Maya are sitting on a bench outside on the grounds, Emily pulling her jacket tightly around her shoulders against the wind.

“I don’t know where to start,” Maya confesses. 

“What happened to you?” Emily asks as gently as she can. “Where have you been?”

“When we were together,” Maya begins. “Emily, there were some things I didn’t tell you. I was trying to run from my past, and you - you seemed like the perfect new start.” Maya takes Emily’s hand. “My parents moved her because of me. Because I’d fallen in with a bad crowd in San Francisco. My boyfriend - I thought he was just posing as a bad boy, but he turned out to be the real thing.”

“He was a small time dealer, but he was all about the hustle. He’d sell anything to anyone. Dope, pills, coke, club drugs - the guy was a walking pharmacy. I started using. A little at first. Then a little more. I didn’t think it was a problem, I did a good job hiding it from my parents, until they found me unconscious on the bathroom floor and rushed me to the hospital.”

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Emily asks, her eyes tracing Maya’s face hungrily, still shocked to be sitting across from her, talking to her as if it’s the most normal thing in the world. As if they’ve just run into each other at the dentist’s office and decided to meet for lunch. As if one of them hasn’t just risen from the dead.

“I didn’t want to be that person,” Maya explains. “I didn’t want you to see me that way, a messed up addict on her third tour of rehab. That’s why we came here. My parents got me a space in an outpatient program at Radley. They thought it would be good to get me away from my old friends in California, my old habits.”

“That’s why they freaked out,” Emily realizes. “When my mom found that joint in your purse.”

“They weren’t overreacting,” Maya admits. “I was supposed to be cleaning up my act. But it was hard. New town, new people. I needed something to take the edge off, make me a little less inhibited.”

“You were never inhibited,” Emily says, smiling at the memory of the bold swath Maya always seemed to cut through life, slicing all of Emily’s doubts and hesitations to ribbons. 

“Maybe not with you,” Maya teases. “You brought out a different side of me. It was like - the person I wanted to be was the person you thought I was. I know that sounds messed up.”

“You were that person,” Emily insists. “It wasn’t all an act or a game with you. Was it?”

“Two days,” Maya says. “It took me two days to fall in with the wrong crowd all over again.”

“What are you talking about? I met you the day you moved here.” Emily has a vivid memory of the walls of Alison’s old room seeming suddenly close around them. Remembers how she stared at Maya without meaning to. The thrill of possibility when Maya didn’t turn away.

“The day we moved into the house,” Maya corrects. “There was some kind of delay with the closing, we wound up spending a week in a motel outside of town. It wasn’t far from Radley, I guess, but it was creep central.”

“I was walking to the ice machine one night, and I ran into this older guy. He seemed cool, and we started talking a little, and - he was holding. I was trying to stay clear of the hard stuff, but I figured it couldn’t hurt to make a new friend. But the second I took the baggie out of his hands, he whipped out a badge and threatened to charge me with possession.”

“Darren Wilden?” Emily guesses. The baddest bad cop in town.

“One and the same.” Maya nods. “He wanted me to get in with the party crowd, the ones who were always hanging out at the Kahn cabin. He was running a whole scam. He stole drugs from the police property room, sold them through me, and then had me give him the names of the buyers so he could have the option of arresting them if he needed a few busts to get his numbers up.”

“Is that,” Emily says, hesitating. “Is that why you had to leave?”

Maya squeezes her hand. “It was a big part of it. I thought I was off the hook when someone at their church convinced my parents to ship me off to that boot camp rehab. But he was scared I was going to tell someone or turn him in. He found a guy with substance abuse and anger management issues and sent him up there after me.” 

“Lyndon?” Emily asks, horrified. “He sent Lyndon after you?” She swallows the bile that rises in her throat at his name, at the thoughts of that night at the Light House Inn. The flash of steel. The smell of gunpowder. Her shoes sticky with blood and her hands shaking so hard as she untied Paige’s wrists.

“I’m so sorry,” Maya says, looking down. “I never meant for all my craziness to come back on you. Especially not like that.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Emily says, automatically. “You couldn’t have known.” She wonders how many times she’s said that, all the dominoes of unintended consequences crashing through the years.

“I should have been honest with you,” Maya says. “But I didn’t have the nerve until it was already too late. I ran away. I stayed at Noel’s cabin. And one night while I was laying low there - Alison DiLaurentis showed up. Seems we had the same taste, in girlfriends and off the grid hide outs”

“I didn’t really have a plan, but after we swapped stories, Alison made one for me. She knew another cop, she had some kind of dirt on him. She promised to get in touch with him, to have him get in touch with a lawyer and arrange for me and my family to go into Witness Protection if I turned Wilden in. She kept her end of the deal, too. She promised Garrett he could be the one to “find” her, as long as he worked with Veronica Hastings to get me safely out of town.”

“But then they arrested him for your murder!”

“Wilden suspected something was up. Garrett was going to testify against him, too, about irregularities in the evidence logs or something. Wilden didn’t buy the story about me being murdered, he had fake autopsy reports and photos, but he went to check the morgue records and couldn’t find a toe tag for my body. That’s - that’s why he sent Lyndon after you. To find out if you knew anything, if we were still in contact.”

“If I had known-”

“He would have killed you. And me.”

“He tried to kill me anyway. I would have rather been in danger, but known you were safe. Or at least, not dead.”

“I tried to tell you. I did. I wrote a letter and dropped in on Hanna’s back porch.”

“The rain,” Emily says. “We found it, but the ink was completely washed away.”

“Everything happens for a reason,” Maya says, with an enigmatic smile.

Emily shakes her head. “There’s still so much I don’t understand.”

“Once Wilden was murdered, there wasn’t much to protect me from. I helped make a case against my ex-boyfriend. I told them what I knew about Wilden’s connections. But the heat was off. I thought about looking you up, when you were at Pepperdine. I imagined driving down there, running into you in a coffee shop someday. But it always seemed too crazy. You were over it. You’d moved on. And then, all these years later-- Alison called.”

“I don’t know how she knew where I was, or that I went into nursing, or even what name I was living under.”

“She’s Alison,” Emily says. “She knows everything.”

“She does,” Maya says, darkly. “She said she helped me get away and that she needed to call in the favor. She didn’t give me the details of her plan until it was too late for me to try and talk her out of it. She wanted me to get hired here, scout things out, quietly find out what the staff buzz was on Dr. Rollins and her sister. The palming meds and helping steal medical files came later.”

“But you -” Emily falters, not sure what exactly she wants to ask, but with a distinct feeling there must be more to the story. “You must have left your whole life behind! To come back here, to help Alison. I know Ali can be persuasive - but as favors go, that’s off the charts!”

“I do have a whole life,” Maya agrees. Her smile seems wistful. “I have a cabin near Mount Shasta and a vegetable plot in the community garden and a lover who calls me Kendra when we’re in bed together, because she has no idea who I really am.” She sighs, and interlaces her fingers with Emily’s. “Maybe part of me wanted to come back here. To be a tourist in my old life for a little while.”

Emily looks at their hands. Remembers the night before Maya got sent away, the candles flickering in Spencer’s bedroom. She tries to imagine what it would be like to walk away from her whole life, to become a person with no history, to have your own name be a lie.

“And,” Maya continues. “Alison said you might be in danger again. I guess I felt like after everything I put you through, everything with Lyndon - I thought I could finally get my karma to balance out.”

Emily squeezes her hand and smiles. “You didn’t have to do that, but I’m glad you did. I felt so guilty after you - after I thought you had died. I thought it was all my fault. That if you hadn’t been in Rosewood to see me, you would have still been alive.”

Maya shakes her head. “I can’t even imagine what it did to you. I’m so sorry, Emily.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Emily tells her. “You being alive is the best apology ever.”

“So,” Maya says, her voice lowering to the timbre of secrets and intrigue. “I know I’ve been out of the loop, but - you and Alison?”

Emily feels herself blushing. “Yes. I mean, it’s all pretty new. Not new. Or, well, it’s old. We have a lot of history.”

“You were always cute when you got flustered,” Maya observes.

Emily’s blush intensifies. “We’ve tried a few times before. But it feels different now. Like it might actually be real.”

“You trust her?”

“I do. She’s my best friend.”

Maya gives her a long, appraising look. “She did it for you, you know. She didn’t hustle me out of town for the sake of my pretty little face. She wanted to get rid of me. To eliminate the competition.”

Emily shakes her head. “No one ever knows why Alison does what she does.”

“I know,” Maya assures her. “But I saw the way she was sizing me up. She didn’t think I was good enough for you. She didn’t think anyone was. Alison DiLaurentis has been wanting you all to herself since she was sixteen, Emily. Not that I can blame her.”

“What will you do now?” Emily asks. “Are you going to stay in town for awhile?”

“No need,” Maya says, shaking her head. “I’ll give my notice and pack up this afternoon. Unless…” she fixes Emily with a lingering suggestive look, “Unless there’s a chance you might want me to stay close. We never really had a chance to say goodbye last time.”

Emily smiles in spite of herself. “You always were a flirt.”

“Lucky for you! You were so shy.”

Emily squeezes Maya’s hand again, for a long moment, then pulls away. “Go back to your regular life,” she says, not unkindly. “It’s amazing to see you, and I’m so glad we got to have a happier ending - ”

“But it’s still an ending,” Maya says, ruefully. “I get it.”

Emily stands up and hugs Maya. “Can we keep in touch? Maybe have dinner sometime if I’m back in California?”

“I’d like that,” Maya agrees, her arms tight around Emily’s body. 

“I should go,” Emily says. “We still have a mystery to solve.”

Maya nods, pulling away. “Good luck with that.”

“Thanks.” Emily turns and starts walking slowly back to the parking lot.

She’s halfway there when she hears Maya call out, “Emily, wait!” And then Maya comes running up breathlessly behind her, a hand on her shoulder pulling her around. Maya kisses her, and it feels warm and familiar, like the smell of an old favorite recipe bubbling on the stove. Emily kisses her back briefly, then pulls away. 

“She doesn’t deserve you,” Maya says, a hand on her hip. 

“The heart wants what it wants,” Emily replies. “You taught me that.”

“I did, didn’t I?” Maya grins. “Well then - I hope she knows how lucky she is.”

Emily’s phone pings, and the smile vanishes from her face as she reads the message. “I’m sorry,” she says, hurrying back towards her car. “I have to go.”

She tosses the phone on the passenger’s seat as she starts the engine. The screen still shows the SOS text from Spencer, with a picture attachment of a terrified Melissa Hastings bound and gagged and tied to a chair.


	26. Proven Guilty

Spencer is on a rampage through the main house when Emily arrives, stalking from room to room and gathering various items that she’s collecting in a pile on the kitchen counter. The pile, Emily notes, currently contains a set of carving knives, a taser, a can of shaving cream, and a tire iron. 

“We don’t know anything for sure,” Aria is saying, as Spencer uses a letter opener to try and pry open the bottom drawer of her father’s desk.

“Whoever this is, they have my sister,” Spencer says in a tight voice.

“Or they have photoshop,” Aria offers, a hand on Spencer’s shoulder as Spencer pushes the letter opener so hard that the handle snaps off.

“Spence,” Emily says, gently. “What’s going on?”

Spencer doesn’t even look up, but Aria meets her eyes with a worried frown. “Melissa is missing. She took Spencer’s car to go to a meeting, and the cops found it abandoned on Route 6. There were - signs of a struggle. And then Spencer got the text.”

“Did you tell the police?” Emily asks. “Are they looking for her?”

“The police are a little complicated, at the moment,” Aria says. “Toby was here earlier, and he took everything we had on Charlotte. Visitors logs, journals, the Mary Drake records - all of it.”

Emily feels sick at the thought of all their hard won evidence being boxed up and pawed through by the Rosewood PD, but she does her best to hold it in. “Okay,” she says. “What do we do now?”

Spencer is clawing at the drawer with her fingers, as Aria continues to explain. “Jason was here when the text came in. He’s out trying to gather cash, in case there’s a ransom. Everyone else is upstairs pawing through Melissa’s room, trying to figure out who she might have been meeting.”

Alison appears in the doorway to the den. “We found a spare set of keys,” she announces. Her voice is all business, even as her eyes seem to be searching Emily’s face nervously for any signs of a change of heart. “I’m going out to check her car.” She raises an eyebrow at Emily. “Come give me a hand?”

\----------

Mona has a map spread out over the neatly made bed in Melissa’s room. She’s frowning and using a pencil to mark points of interest, or possibly planning the invasion of a small country.

Hanna is tossing the dresser, rifling through Melissa’s pockets with abandon. She finds a buttery soft leather handbag concealed beneath a folded pile of sweaters. 

“Well, at least she didn’t flee the country this time,” Hanna exclaims, pulling out Melissa’s passport. She studies the pages carefully. “Or last time, either. She flew into New York three months ago, and she hasn’t left since.”

Mona taps the pencil thoughtfully against the corner of her mouth. “Interesting,” she says. “And oddly careless of her to leave proof that she lied laying around with nothing guarding it but her cardigans. Whatever Melissa has going on, she’s off her game.”

“Speaking of off,” Hanna mutters, “I have some withdrawal slips here with so many zeros they could finance my shoe collection for the next decade.”

Mona walks over to examine the receipts herself, letting out a low whistle as she does so. “This much cash? She’s either going on the run, or making some major blackmail payments.”

\-------

Alison unlocks Melissa’s car, motioning for Emily to join her in the front seat.

Emily gets in and opens the glove compartment, rustling the papers around in search of a clue.

Alison slides the key in the ignition and tries to start the car. The engine roars to life immediately. Ali frowns and turns the car back off. “She wasn’t having car trouble. So why make a point of borrowing Spencer’s?”

“Maybe she was trying to keep Spencer here?” Emily suggests. “Or maybe she was trying to create confusion. In which case, well done.”

Alison purses her lips, drumming her fingers nervously on the steering wheel. “Are you feeling confused?”

“About Melissa’s motivations? Yes. About us? No.”

Alison sighs with relief. Emily looks over at her, still a little surprised at this version of Alison. After all the games and schemes and fake dying, Alison now seems willing to wear her heart on her sleeve. Or if not on her sleeve, at least peeking out from underneath it.

“I should have just told you,” Alison admits. “Instead of adding another secret to the pile.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Alison reaches into the glove compartment herself, busying herself with a quick study of the Melissa’s title and registration, her oil change records and parking receipts. “I didn’t want you running off to go find her.”

“I didn’t exactly love watching you get gooey eyed over Holbrook. Or Lorenzo. Or Elliot. But I don’t know if I would have gone through so much trouble to pack them off to a new life just to get them away from you.”

Alison picks out a few parking stubs and sets them on the dashboard, refusing to meet Emily’s eyes. “You’re a better person that I am.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Emily insists, putting a hand on Alison’s knee. “But no more secrets, okay? Not about who’s alive or dead or what kind of long con you’re working or whether it was you or Hanna who ate the last peanut butter cookie.”

“It was Hanna,” Alison says, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You have to promise me something, too.”

“Anything.”

“You have to promise that I can tell you the whole truth about things, about everything, and you won’t run away. Even if the truth is ugly or scary or makes me seem awful - you won’t change your mind and decide I’m not worth it.”

“Is that what you’re afraid of?” Emily asks, incredulously. “I’m not going anywhere. Ali. I promise.”

Alison looks at her for a long moment, then kisses her deeply, sliding her tongue into Emily’s mouth like she wants to taste the promise, keep a little of that certainty for herself. “Good,” she sighs.

When they break apart, Alison tries to refocus on searching the car, running her hands under the seats and along the sides of the door. It doesn’t last. “I never liked her,” she tells Emily. She studies her hands. “I _hated_ that she was your first.” 

Emily picks up the parking receipts that Alison set aside, a serious expression on her face. “You were right the other day - when you asked if I was happy. I haven’t been. Not since my dad died. It was like - so huge and wrong, it felt like nothing was going to be okay ever again.” She shifts in the passenger seat to face Ali. “But now, even in the middle of all the other bad things that are happening - Ali, when I kiss you, it feels right. It feels like nothing else matters. Like the past is the past. And this is the future.”

“Come on,” Alison says, suddenly all business. She hops out of the car and pops the trunk. “The sooner we find out what Melissa is up to, the sooner we get to the part of night where we -”

“You were saying?” Emily asks, then hops out of the car herself to see what stopped Alison mid-sentence. She sees a small red light blinking beneath the spare tire. “Is that a tracker?”

“It is,” Alison confirms. “And this,” she says, pointing at a white circular mark on the left side of the trunk lining, “is a freeze mark.”

Emily leans in to examine the mark more closely. A small series of numbers and letters are just visible around the perimeter. “Is that what I think it is?” Emily asks, her heart pounding hard.

“It is,” Alison says, a sympathetic hand on Emily’s back and a grim look on her face. “Property of Hollis Medical Center,” she reads. “Looks like Melissa was carting around a tank of liquid nitrogen.”

\-------------------

Spencer’s pile of items has grown, now including safety flares from the garage, a fire extinguisher from beneath the kitchen sink, a straight razor from her father’s bathroom, and the revolver that Spencer finally liberated from his desk in the den.

“Shouldn’t we call someone?” Aria pleads. “Your parents will have the National Guard out looking for her in about two seconds!”

“It won’t do any good,” Spencer declares. “They sent me the text. They want me to try and find her.”

“Like a psychotic game of hide and seek,” Aria mutters. 

“Psychotic is right,” Alison voice cuts in from the doorway. “Melissa stole Emily’s eggs. We have parking receipts from the hospital and a freeze mark from the tank in her trunk.”

“And her car started fine,” Emily reports. “She lied about that, too.”

“I thought I heard the dulcet tones of accusations being hurled around,” Mona comments, descending the stairs with Hanna close behind. 

Hanna waves the passport over her head. “She wasn’t back in London on election night. No plane. No turbulence. No tray table. It was her in the tunnel. It has to be!”

“She wouldn’t,” Spencer insists. “She wouldn’t hurt my friends. And whoever is after us - they have her, now. She didn’t kidnap herself.”

“Are you sure about that?” Mona asks. “Even if she’s being blackmailed again?”

“Innocent until proven guilty,” Spencer says firmly.

“How much more proof do you need?” Emily asks. “This isn’t her borrowing your black dress without asking! She took my eggs! She’s not making an omelette with them!”

“Someone was keeping tabs on her,” Alison adds. “We found a tracker in the trunk of her car. If she knew she was being followed, that could explain her sudden need to switch cars.”

“I have a theory about that,” Mona muses. She spreads the map out against the wall. She points to a red circle. “Here’s where we are. Where Melissa started out.” She nods towards another circle. “This is where the car was found. It’s safe to say she was heading away from town. Out towards the sticks.”

“Towards Radley,” Alison notes.

“I thought that, too,” Mona admits. “But if she were going to Radley, why borrow Spencer’s car? She could take a cab and have no one be any the wiser about her movements.”

“Maybe she was going to need a quick getaway?” Emily suggests. “Or she was doing something she didn’t want anyone else around to see?”

“But if her mission itself was shady, why involve Spencer?” Mona ponders. “There has to be a reason she was using borrowed wheels.”

“Error go, she was heading somewhere that a cab or an Uber would seem out of place!” Hanna exclaims. 

“Ergo, sweetie,” Mona whispers, earning a weird look from Aria. “But I think you’re right. And if she kept heading in the same general direction for another ten minutes, she’d end up -”

“Here,” Hanna says, pointing at the map triumphantly. “The Lost Woods Resort.”

“There you go!” Emily says. “Returning to the scene of the crime!”

“Except that she didn’t make it,” Spencer points out. “Because a crime happened to her.”

In the middle of the tense silence that follows this proclamation, Spencer’s phone pings. She holds up the screen to show everyone the latest message. It’s another picture, this time of Melissa bleeding from the head and being dragged on the ground.

“The sewer tunnels,” Emily points out, judging by the background.

“The same ones we were chasing Hanna through,” Aria agrees. 

A second text pops up. 

>If you want her, come and get her.


	27. Thicker Than Water

“You’re not serious?” Aria asks, as Spencer starts gathering her makeshift pile of weapons into a messenger bag. “They might as well have sent you an engraved invitation to meet them at the GIANT TRAP!”

“You don’t have to go,” Spencer replies. “I do.”

“No way,” Emily insists. “No way are we letting you go down there alone.”

“Especially not to save Melissa’s evil ass,” Hanna declares. “I saw Naomi Campbell try to shove Janice Dickinson’s hair into a garbage disposal after one of Claudia’s dinner parties - and Melissa is still the scariest size two I’ve ever met.”

“Seriously, Spencer,” Alison says, her eyes on the grim set of Spencer’s mouth. “Melissa can take care of herself.”

“What would you do?” Spencer asks. “If it was your sister?”

Alison flinches. “I’d go after her,” she admits. “But Emily’s right - you’re not going alone. We can’t afford to lose you.” She looks at the others, and it’s as if they’re all fourteen again, waiting for her to pronounce whether they’ll spend the day at the mall or the lake. “I’m going with you.”

“I still think this is a terrible idea,” Emily grumbles. “But -”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mona interrupts. “As Ali goes, so goes your nation.” She sighs. “You’re like a bunch of _highly_ codependent musketeers.” 

Aria clasps a hand over Spencer’s. “So it’s all of us, right?”

Hanna makes a face. “I don’t care if Melissa gets eaten by a pit full of alligators,” she tells Spencer. “But I care about you. I’m in.”

“This is _just_ like that after school special about smoking,” Mona says. “But seeing as how you already lost Hanna down there once this week, I’m coming too.”

\----------

The tunnel is dark and as unpleasant smelling as it was a few nights ago, Emily thinks to herself. It seems worse now, without the adrenaline rush coursing through her, covering her fear with endorphins.

“Were you texting someone?” she asks Ali, as they bring up the rear of the search party. “In the car?”

“Jason,” Ali says quietly. “He’s useless, but he’s the best back up plan I could come up with on short notice. If he doesn’t hear back in an hour, he’ll send in the cavalry. I hope.”

“How much farther?” Hanna asks. “I think I wore the wrong shoes.”

“We’re still at least a mile from where the tunnels converge,” Emily estimates. “Probably more like a mile and a half.”

“Spencer,” Alison says, trying to break through Spencer’s anxiety. “Did Jason get any info from your dad? They looked like they were having a heart to heart earlier.”

“He did,” Spencer tells her. “But we’re on a rescue mission. This isn’t the time for a debriefing.”

“Actually, it’s the perfect time,” Mona suggests. “If you’re assuming the bad guys have Melissa, and we know Mary Drake is one of our villains, the more we know about her, the better.”

Hanna beams at her, her teeth flashing white in the darkness of the tunnel. 

Aria drops back to walk close to Emily. “Have you noticed the weirdness of them?”

“We’re in Rosewood,” Emily mutters. “Weirdness is a sliding scale.”

“Why is Mona here?” Aria hisses. “Risking her life with us when she could be getting a mani pedi? And what is Hanna doing with her flashlight?”

Emily follows her gaze, notices that Hanna does seem to be more interested in illuminating Mona’s shapely backside than the floor of the tunnel. 

“Maybe she’s afraid of getting separated?” Emily suggests, as Mona reaches behind her and takes Hanna’s hand. 

Aria gives her a doubtful look, but further conversation is cut short by Spencer.

“It’s not a pretty story,” Spencer says, keeping her voice low. She doesn’t stop walking, and they all huddle closer to her as they continue moving forward, not wanting to miss a word. “At least not the version Jason got out of him.”

_Peter Hastings was twenty years old and poring over a thick legal tome while distractedly eating a piece of peach pie in a Georgia diner._

_“You’re not from around here,” Jessica Drake says to him, deliberately accentuating her drawl. She sits down across from him, uninvited, twirling her honey colored hair as she does so._

_“No,” he says, politely. “I’m not.”_

_“Good looking fellas like you don’t buy themselves cufflinks,” she observes, reaching over to run a fingernail over the delicate silver designs at his wrists. They were shaped like the scales of justice. Understated. Old money. “You have a girlfriend back home?”_

_Peter nods, flashing for a moment on the way Veronica looks in their Constitutional Law class. Confident. Determined. Intense. Ready to take the world by storm all on her own. He remembers their third date, when they ran into a girl Veronica had gone to high school with. A drunken sorority girl, who’d asked Veronica if he was her boyfriend in a tone of complete disbelief. “No,” Veronica had said coolly. “He’s my equal.”_

_“Well,” Jessica continues. “Be that as it may, I’m going to take it on myself to show a Yankee boy like you some good old fashioned Southern hospitality.”_

_\--------_

_Peter isn’t stupid. He doesn’t imagine he’s the only guy Jessica is seeing. She reminds him of Scarlett O’Hara, the scene where she has a whole crowd of men captivated and jockeying to sit next to her at the barbeque. She’s a girl who wants to get out of this sleepy Southern town, who’s looking around for a man willing to fly her into a whole new life. Or maybe drive her there in a luxury car. Something with a flashy paint job and leather seats._

_Peter has a car like that._

_\--------_

_His dates with Veronica were always to museums, foreign film festivals, political debates. Restaurants that have different forks for each course._

_His dates with Jessica are impromptu picnics. Sandwiches and lemonade. Shucking off their clothes to swim in the creek afterward. They ride horses. She takes him hunting, explains that even a debutante should be able to shoot a coyote. He’s a city boy, he’s never even fired a gun before. He likes it. Likes the feeling of power when the shell explodes out of the barrel. She sneaks him into a distillery after hours, they get drunk on stolen whiskey and have sex right there on the hardwood floor, the smell of spirits in the air all around them.  
He stops thinking about Veronica at all. _

_\--------_

_Peter is down to his last two weeks clerking for Judge Clemens. It’s August. There’s a new guy in town, his family runs a hedge fund in Philadelphia and Jessica seems to be spending a lot of time with him. Peter never thought he was her only iron in the fire. But he had flattered himself that he was her favorite._

_\---------_

_Five days before he’s supposed to leave, he’s lying awake in bed in his rooming house when he hears the screen of his bedroom window being lifted. He smells Jessica’s warm floral perfume, sees her silhouette climbing through the window in the moonlight. She comes to him, honey blond hair tickling his chest._

_He feels like the luckiest guy in the world._

_Hours later, she looks up at him, her eyes shining. “Take me away from here, Peter. Now. Tonight.”_

_He grins wolfishly at the thought. He could do it. They could start driving and never look back. He thinks he might love Jessica, her warmth, her unpredictability. The way being with her makes him feel looser, like she’s a release valve on his buttoned up life. The rip cord on a parachute, all he has to do is jump out of the plane._

_“I’ll take you,” he says. “I can’t go yet - Clemens hasn’t given me my recommendation. But start packing. I love you, Jessica.”_

_She bristles in spite of his words. “If you really loved me, you wouldn’t make me wait.”_

_He laughs, he thinks she’s teasing. “What’s four more days?” he asks. “We have the rest of our lives ahead of us.”_

_“We don’t,” the woman in his arms said angrily. “I’m not spending another minute with you, you filthy coward!” She smacked him hard across the face, leaving a stinging red handprint against his cheek._

_Before he could recover from the shock, she was gone._

_\----------_

_He was eating a last piece of pie in the diner. His car was packed and parked outside._

_Jessica slid into the seat across from him. “Hey stranger.”_

_He gazed at her warily. “I’m sorry about the other night.”_

_She bats her eyelashes. “What happened the other night?”_

_This is the first time he hears the name Mary Drake, the first time he feels like his life has wandered so far off script he may be in a telenovela. An insane sister. A twin._

_He drives back to U Penn alone._

_\--------------_

“That’s not the whole story,” Spencer editorializes. “But it’s as much as Jason got.”

“That’s terrible!” Hanna exclaims. “He was willing to marry her and then Mary Drake scared him off?”

“Did she, though?” Alison says, curiously. “That wasn’t the end for them. They wound up living next door to each other. And making Jason.”

“That’s not exactly a happily ever after,” Emily points out.

Aria shushes them as the other tunnels come into view. She shines her flashlight in a wide circle, looking for any trace of Melissa or her captor. Spencer comes up behind her, and immediately heads for the second tunnel. 

“We should take the one towards the Lost Woods Resort,” Emily whispers. “Ezra said that one was a dead end.” 

“Can we not say ‘dead end,’” Mona requests. “I don’t want us to jinx ourselves.”

Spencer isn’t listening. She’s picking something up from the slimy floor. The red sole of Melissa’s left red soled Louboutin heel is dangling from her hand.


	28. Famous Last Words

Spencer isn’t listening. She’s picking something up from the slimy floor. The red sole of Melissa’s left red soled Louboutin heel is dangling from her hand.

The others exchange apprehensive looks. 

“Awfully convenient,” Alison opines. “I know we had this discussion before, but this looking more and more like a trap.”

Spencer doesn’t disagree, but she moves determinedly down the tunnel in search of Melissa, the other trailing along behind her.

“Famous last words,” Emily grouses.

“Could we not say ‘last words’ either?” Mona asks. “I believe in the power of positive thinking.”

“Mona and I are together!” Hanna announces suddenly. “Like, in a Biblical way. Or, okay, maybe it’s not really _in_ the Bible - but in an Emily way.”

“An Emily way?” Emily repeats. 

“In a gay way,” Mona clarifies, putting an arm possessively around Hanna’s waist.

“The gayest way,” Hanna agrees, beaming at her.

“What?” Aria exclaims, stunned. 

“I wanted to tell you. In case we all die.”

“No one is dying,” Alison orders, firmly.

“Right,” Hanna mutters. “Not until you and Em -”

“Hanna!” Emily interjects.

Aria is still in a state of disbelief. “You don’t think this is crazy?” she asks turning from Emily to Spencer.

“We’re in mission mode,” Spencer says, sharply. “This isn’t time to be giggling over our love lives!”

“You’re not shocked,” Aria notices. “Is there no being shocked in mission mode?”

“Hanna told me,” Spencer says, still focusing on their progress through the tunnel. “When I confronted her about leaving the hotel room.”

“You left the hotel room?” Aria exclaims, confused. 

“I didn’t want Mona trying to meet Charlotte alone,” Hanna explains. “I drove out to the Two Crows.”

“I left the diner when Hanna drove up,” Mona says. “We staked it out from her car for a few more hours, but Charlotte never showed.”

“This isn’t new, then?” Emily asks Hanna.

Hanna shakes her head. “We ran into each other in Miami, right after Caleb left. It’s been on and off ever since. Off, after I got engaged. But once we were both back in Rosewood...and after I got kidnapped - there’s nothing like almost dying to make you realize what’s really important.”

Emily looks at Hanna and Mona with their arms wrapped around each other in the middle of the dank sewer, taking in the way Hanna’s other hand is balled into a fist, the only sign that she has a layer of nerves underneath her brash confidence. She bites back every snarky thought she’s ever had about Mona, and shrugs nonchalantly.

“It’s not so crazy,” she tells Aria. “No crazier than us rushing off to rescue _Melissa_ , anyway.”

The relief on Hanna’s face is so palpable that Emily drops back to pat her warmly on the shoulder. “We love you, Hanna. No one cares who you’re with.”

“Unless you hurt her,” Spencer cautions Mona. “In which case, we care very much and will run you over with a car.”

“Cars,” Aria chimes in. “Or maybe one of those trucks with the really big tires.” 

“You don’t seem surprised, either,” Emily says to Alison.

“Please,” Alison snarks. “They crashed a party at Matt Damon’s house, and that story doesn’t end with Hanna trying to blow him? Do you not remember how many times she made us watch _Good Will Hunting_? Is it even a secret if it’s that obvious?”

“Touche,” Mona nods. “Hey, did Ezra mention a giant vault door at the end of the tunnel?”

“He did not,” Aria grimaces. “Did anyone bring a blow torch?”

Alison waltzes over the to giant metal door and pulls. It swings open easily. 

“Right,” Hanna says. “Because it’s a trap.”

“My mom always used to say I’d jump off a bridge if you guys did,” Aria admits.

“My sister is in there,” Spencer insists. “Trap or no trap, we have to try to get her out.” She pulls Peter’s gun out of her pocket and shines her flashlight into the space beyond the door. It leads to a tiled hallway. She heads inside, the others close behind her.

No sooner are the last of them through the door when it swings shut with a loud clang. Emergency floor lighting flickers on, a series of yellow safety arrows guiding them forward, as if they’re evacuating a downed airplane.

“Is there a plan?” Emily asks Spencer.

“There’s six of us,” Spencer answers. “Strength in numbers.”

“Where did you get that plan, a fortune cookie?” Alison asks. 

They keep walking for what feels like hours, winding down a maze of corridors that make Emily fear they might never be able to find the way back out. She takes a deep breath, knowing it’s probably only been five or ten minutes. Time seems to stretch, Emily thinks, when you’re expecting to be taken prisoner every three feet.

Spencer holds up a hand as they turn down yet another hallway, making a gesture for silence as they all peer around the corner a partially open door about fifty feet away. A puddle of light spills out into the darkness, and a wall of security monitors is visible with a tall leather captains chair facing the screens. 

They exchange determined looks and creep forward as quietly as possible. Spencer flings the door open with a bang and spins the chair around quickly, only to find herself pointing the revolver at nothing, there’s no one there.

“About time,” a bored voice comments from the corner. “If I knew it was going to take you all day, I would have brought a crossword puzzle.”

“You’re - you’re not a prisoner,” Spencer sputters indignantly.

Melissa Hastings rolls her eyes and pushes an intercom button. “They’re here. _Finally._ ”

A bookshelf swings forward and a figure in a black hoodie enters the room. Alison gasps, leaning against Emily as if she’s suddenly unsteady on her feet.

“So,” Charlotte DiLaurentis says, plopping down in the captain’s chair. “Which one of you bitches tried to kill me?”


	29. Reunion

“So,” Charlotte DiLaurentis says, plopping down in the captain’s chair. “Which one of you bitches tried to kill me?”

Alison rushes towards her sister, tears of happiness and relief streaming down her face. “I thought I lost you.”

Charlotte’s expression softens, and she returns Alison’s hug. “Well?” she asks the others, over Alison’s shoulder. “Let’s hear it, ladies! Confessions? Outraged denials? Wild conspiracy theories?” She gazes at the faces of the Liars, taking in Emily’s open mouthed shock, Spencer’s wary surprise, Aria’s wide eyed fear, Hanna’s defiant expression, and Mona’s unperturbed countenance.

“I told you it wasn’t them,” Melissa says, in a long suffering voice. “They can barely coordinate lunch plans - forget about covering up a murder.”

“Speaking of which,” Mona says calmly, as if they’re making small talk at a cocktail party. “You do seem to be the picture of health, considering you were in a coffin last time we saw you.”

Charlotte steps away from Alison and folds her arms across her chest. “A coffin one of you tried to put me in.” She studies them all carefully, like she’s looking for a tell.

“No,” Emily says, firmly. “We talked you down off the roof, remember? None of us wanted you dead.”

“You wanted me locked up,” Charlotte counters. “Then someone cracks my skull from behind hours after my release? Frankly, I’m impressed with your initiative.”

“It wasn’t them,” Alison insists, her hand on Charlotte’s elbow. “Rollins - he was playing us both.”

“Rollins is a dirtbag,” Charlotte agrees. “I was playing him to try and get an early release. But this isn’t him.”

“He married me, then pushed me down a flight of stairs,” Alison tells her. 

“In broad daylight, at a bed and breakfast,” Charlotte points out. “He’s not subtle.”

“You’ve been watching us,” Hanna says, hollowly. “Again.”

“I wasn’t going to!” Charlotte insists. “I’m rehabilitated! But it’s a dangerous world! A girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do!” She gestures towards the monitors, where cameras seem to be capturing a variety of Rosewood residents in and out of their homes. Aria catches sight of Ezra hastily packing a suitcase, Lucas eating jello in his hospital bed, Ashley getting into the elevator at the Radley, Jason tugging at the hairs of his goatee and looking stressed in his office.

“Why don’t we trade information,” Spencer suggests, in a voice that sounds like she’s agreeing to negotiate with North Korea. “Compare notes.”

“This is an interrogation,” Melissa cuts in. “Not a slumber party. She’s not interested in trading secrets and painting your nails.”

“Although,” Charlotte says to Alison, “that is a really nice shade on you.”

“Why are you her minion?” Spencer hisses at her sister.

“I’m not a minion,” Melissa huffs.

“So what, you’re her unpaid egg-stealing intern?” Emily glares.

“No harm, no foul,” Charlotte says with an exaggerated shrug. “They’re still frozen. When this is over, you can have them back.”

“Charlotte,” Alison says, aghast. “You can’t just steal people’s eggs!”

“I needed leverage,” Charlotte replies, sounding supremely unconcerned. “Besides, I saw how you two were looking at each other in the hospital. I thought _you_ might want them. So you could have Baby Emily running around instead of some stranger.”

“You’re not really selling the whole rehabilitation angle,” Aria says, finding her voice.

“Lighten up, little cousin,” Charlotte grins. “Did I try to saw anyone in half? Did I run a car through your living room? Did I explode any houses?” She focuses on Hanna. “That fork in the eye breakfast threat? That was totally friendly! You even got free breakfast out of it! But do I hear a thank you?”

“Thank you for not actually running me over with the monster truck,” Emily says, sarcastically.

“Pfft,” Melissa says. “I gunned the engine a few times. Don’t be so dramatic.”

“Why are you helping her?” Spencer demands. “Is she blackmailing you?”

“Only a little,” Charlotte protests, defensively.

“Sara Harvey was blackmailing me,” Melissa explains. “The greedy little weasel. I emptied my trust fund, I had to borrow money from Dad.”

“But then, once I found out,” Charlotte explains, “I hacked into her bank account and got it all back. Everything she hadn’t spent on her hole in the wall renovation project. And her room service bill. Because I do good things now. I help people.”

Melissa makes an exasperated noise. “Except that she’s keeping it in escrow until we solve the case of who almost killed her. So unless you want your penniless sister sleeping on the floor of your place in DC, I suggest you help us figure it out.”

Charlotte nods. “Poverty makes her grouchy,” she cautions. “So spill.”

“None of them tried to kill you,” Mona assures her. “I had Ashley give me the back up drive for safe keeping, and Aria and Hanna were the only ones who left the hotel. Hannakins was with me, and Aria was making doe eyes at Mr. Fitz until he packed her off back to The Radley. We need to be looking at anyone else in the area who’s unaccounted for.”

“There!” Charlotte says. “Was that so hard?”

“Alison wasn’t at the hotel,” Melissa says accusingly. “A sisterly spat over a boyfriend - could lead to enough bad blood for someone to take a whack at you.”

“Speak for yourself!” Alison retorts.

“It wasn’t Ali,” Charlotte declares with a breezy wave. “I drugged her tea after she copped to sleeping with Elliott. I figured I’d need to sneak out and have a little talk with him. About what kind of a game he was playing.”

Alison makes an indignant noise in the back of her throat. “I didn’t do anything you wouldn’t do,” Charlotte scoffs defensively. 

“Did you meet him?” Spencer asks, curiously. “Was that the plan?”

“I had a busy schedule,” Charlotte admits. “He was last up on my dance card. I was meeting Mike at the church and then planning to swing by the Two Crows for some apple pie ala Mona, then head over to Rollins’ place to discuss the finer points of monogamy.”

“Okay,” Hanna says, “I’ll bite. What happened when you got to the church?”

“Someone tried to kill me! Haven’t you been paying attention? I went up to the bell tower, so I could see him arrive. I saw Ezra Fitz, a taxi pulling away, some elderly hipster in a fedora lurking across the street. And then I got hit in the back of the head so hard I nearly blacked out. I didn’t even have a chance to roll over before I was being strangled. I clawed at whoever it was as well as I could, but it was no good. I landed one good solid kick right as they tried to throw me off. I went sliding down the roof, grabbed the edge of the gutter and dropped down. I crawled as far as I could. I heard footsteps running towards me, felt someone check my pulse - and then nothing.”

“What do you mean, nothing?” Aria demands. “Next was your funeral. Next was all of us being rung up on attempted murder charges and threatened by emojis!”

“I was keeping things friendly!” Charlotte protests. “Who’s afraid of a devil face and little pink pigs?”

“But how did you fake your death?” Spencer asks, impatiently. “If you were unconscious on the church lawn?”

“It’s not magic, if I tell you how I did the trick,” Charlotte answers, enigmatically.

“You must have had help,” Spencer insists. “An old ally? Or a new one? Rollins? Mary Drake?”

“What do you mean, Mary Drake?” Charlotte says, sharply. “Do you think this is a joke?”

“Did you know about her?” Alison asks. 

“She’s my mother, of course I knew about her,” Charlotte replies, shortly.

“So what does she want?” Mona asks. “Why is she here now?”

Charlotte looks at them all in disbelief. “And I’m supposed to be the insane one here? My mother is dead. Mary Drake died twenty years ago.”

“Like mother, like daughter,” Mona observes. “We have Mary Drake on video outside the Lost Woods Resort the night Hanna was taken. She’s alive, and she’s in Rosewood.”

Charlotte looks stunned. Emily notices that Alison is patting her sister’s back gently and not meeting her eyes. “So you didn’t know?” she asks, softly. “She wasn’t - the one you were taking orders from before?”

The silence in the room is absolute. Everyone is waiting to hear whether Charlotte might finally give them an answer that makes sense.

“No,” Charlotte says, more to herself than to Alison. “It can’t be. She would have told me. She would have wanted me to know.”

“Wait a second,” Emily says, putting it together. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

Charlotte ignores her and grabs Alison’s hand. “I thought you knew,” she says. “I thought you’d always known. I was taking my orders from Jessica.”


	30. At Large

“What?” Alison exclaims, shocked. “My mom? You were taking orders from my mother?”

“It was their fault,” Charlotte says, gesturing at the other Liars. “What happened to you.”

“What happened to me when you hit me over the head and she buried me alive?” Alison asks, scathingly. “How was that their fault?”

“She said Spencer had been cyberbullying you,” Charlotte explains. “And they were happy you were gone, and they were bad friends - too envious and too proud and too wrapped up in their eating disorders and lusting after older men to care what was happening with you.”

“Of course we cared!” Hanna insists.

“They missed me,” Alison says, ruefully, “Even though I wasn’t a good friend. I wasn’t a good person. When I think about the things I did - they should have been relieved I was gone.”

“Ali, no,” Emily says, moving forward to take Alison’s hand. “It was years ago. You have to stop beating yourself up over things that can’t be changed.”

“If we could put the Hallmark moment on hold,” Spencer interjects, “I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that it wasn’t Jessica, right?”

“What about that doesn’t sound like Jessica?” Melissa asks. “You have no idea all the ways that woman has tried to ruin our family.”

“But Jessica was dead,” Hanna reminds them. “Before you ever kidnapped us and dragged us to an underground torture bunker. And set Ali up for murder.”

Charlotte nods. “That was why I gave up the game for a few months. But then I thought, she’d want me to honor her wishes, right? And she would have hated seeing Ali right back in the circle, weaving friendship bracelets with all of you. ”

“I still don’t understand,” Alison says. “You said you didn’t talk to her again after the night I went on the run.”

“I lied,” Charlotte shrugs. “I knew Ezra Fitz had started to suspect she was involved. I thought one of you might have killed her. I was hoping my little sob story would inspire you to fess up.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” Melissa asks. “These girls are not criminal masterminds!”

“I’m not NOT a mastermind,” Spencer replies, slightly offended.

“Okay, okay - we could all be criminal masterminds if we wanted to,” Aria says, placatingly. “But we’re not, and we didn’t try to kill you, and we didn’t kill Jessica.” 

“Is Jessica dead, though?” Mona asks. “And Mary Drake is the twin still at large?”

“Neither of them are at large,” Charlotte insists, prompting Mona to pull out her phone. 

“I downloaded the footage from the motel,” Mona says. “See for yourself.”

Charlotte and Melissa stare intently at the image on the screen, watching as the flash of light illuminates the intruder’s face.

“You’re sure?” Charlotte says. “You’re sure this isn’t someone in a mask?”

“Whoever she is, she came to see me in the hospital,” Alison tells her. “Her voice - they couldn’t have faked that.”

“Speaking of things that can be faked,” a British voice comments, “I have some very interesting background on Dr. Rollins.” Wren Kingston gives them all a dazzling smile as he walks into the room. “Sorry to be late to the party,” he continues, kissing Melissa on the cheek. “But I have brought favors!” He holds up a small dossier in a manilla file folder.

“You’re helping _them_?” Spencer asks, indignant.

Melissa moves away from him as quickly as possible. “I tried to borrow money from him,” she explains.

“And, as I was already helping one charming young lady in Rosewood,” Wren says, flashing his most handsome smile at Charlotte, “I thought - well, the more the merrier!”

“If you’re done angling for a threesome,” Hanna cuts in, “the dirt on Rollins isn’t going to dig itself up.”

“His name isn’t Rollins at all,” Wren says, unabashed. “It’s Thomas Young. He’s Bethany Young’s elder brother.”


	31. Trial by Gaslight

“Enough,” Melissa says. “Enough talking. We need to move.”

“Move where?” Spencer says. “My head is spinning!”

“This is actionable intel,” Alison agrees. “If Elliott isn’t who he says he is, that’s solid proof that he’s up to no good.”

“It’s enough to confront him, at least,” Emily agrees.

“I have an idea about that, actually,” Alison says, a hand on her hip.  
\----------

Rollins is sprawled on the couch, reading the newspaper, swilling whiskey straight from an almost empty bottle, which he sets down haphazardly on top of a hastily packed box of belongings from his office. The rest of the room is a messy scene of overturned end tables and broken picture frames. Alison’s heirloom vase is in pieces, resting underneath the splintered remains of an antique chair. 

The words of the newsprint are blurry, and he tosses it aside. He picks up his cell phone and punches one of his contacts.

“They sacked me,” he announces. “It’s only a matter of time before the police get involved. My bags are packed. I’m ready.”

“Excellent news,” the voice on the other end purrs. “You won’t have to wait much longer. Have a drink. The final act is about to begin.”

He takes a long pull from the bottle, draining it. “I’m not in the mood for bloody riddles,” he says, peevishly. “If you’re not here in twenty minutes, I’m leaving. Plan or no plan.” 

The wind is rattling the shutters, but he doesn’t bother getting up. There’s a single lamp on in the living room, though its shade is askew, casting long shadows across the debris strewn floor.

There’s a loud crack, the sound of glass shattering. He staggers to his feet to investigate. There’s a hole in one of the panes on the bay window. New shards of glass cover the ripped out stuffing of a throw pillow on the floor, and a heavy rock with a jagged edge seems to be the culprit. He crouches down to investigate, a bit unsteady, and picks it up. The rock is slippery. He looks down at his hand and drops it as if he’s been burned. He studies his hand, the sticky red smear of blood against his palm.

He goes to the window and stares out at the darkness. He flips on the porch light, peers out the door just in time to see a figure in a yellow tank top run around the corner of the house, her long blonde hair trailing behind her.

“Very good, my darling,” he snarls. He grabs the rock and heads after her.

The back yard is overgrown, Alison hasn’t been keeping up with the garden this year. Another few days and the Hastings will surely complain. He knows where she’ll be heading, of course, makes his way carefully through the tangle of weeds and a patch of roses that have morphed into some kind of thicket.

“Alissson,” he calls, his voice slurrier than he expected. He crashes through the shrubbery and trips over a twisted root. He gets back up, swiping furiously at a bloody scratch on his cheek. “Let’s not play games!”

He’s almost there, and he can see her in that damned yellow tank top tossing her hair as she runs towards the old shallow grave, although her outline is blurrier than it should be. He blinks hard, then trips again, over a shovel.

When he picks himself up a second time, she’s nowhere in sight. He weaves toward the grave where his poor sister wound up buried and forgotten. Someone has been here, he realizes. The grave is dug up - a mound of fresh dirt beside the six foot drop. Ghouls.

He grabs the shovel, in case her little friends are nearby, in on whatever little scheme she’s trying to run. Child’s play. A spooky trick. 

He stands over the grave and jumps backwards in shock, stumbling again. A hazy figure rises before him, backlit by an eerie glow. 

“Charlotte?” he says, sounding terrified.

“Hello, Lover,” Charlotte says, in a seductive tone, climbing out of the grave. 

“You’re not real,” Rollins cries. “It’s a mask!”

She moves closer to him. “Is it?” she asks, leaning forward. “You know you wanna kiss me.” 

He scuttles away from her frantically. “I didn’t do it!” he exclaims. “It wasn’t me!”

Charlotte shakes her head at him. “I know everything now - _Thomas._ ”

The sound of his real name seems to panic him further, but he’s having trouble getting his limbs to work properly. He wonders if he hit his head when he fell, or if he’s actually paralyzed by fright.

“You’re just as twisted as your sister, aren’t you?” she taunts.

“Don’t you talk about my sister! She’d still be alive if it wasn’t for you! If it wasn’t for you and Alison and Jessica DiLaurentis! And whichever one of Alison’s little girl gang buried her! You all killed her! And you couldn’t care less!”

“She had murder in her heart that night,” Charlotte tells him. “Just like you, when you pushed my sister down a flight of stairs.”

“But she’s fine,” he protests, weakly. “A few nights in the hospital, and she’s right as rain.”

Charlotte frowns. “I’m beginning to see what’s wrong with that argument,” she mutters to herself. “You were after revenge,” she continues.

“I wanted Alison to suffer, I won’t deny it! I wanted to make you love me so that I could turn you and Alison against each other! I married her so that I could get control of Carissimi, liquidate their assets and get away with the money. Reparations - to take from your family, like you took from mine!” 

“You pathetic little roach,” Charlotte says. “All that effort for a poorly conceived love triangle and a little bit of money?”

“It wasn’t my idea,” he protests rubbing at his eyes to try and force the three glaring Charlottes in front of him back to a more manageable number. “She recruited me! She’s insane! She swore a blood vengeance against Alison and her friends.”

“Typical man,” Charlotte says, sounding almost bored. “Blaming it on a woman.”

Rollins musters his strength to crawl toward her. “It’s the truth,” he gasps, sounding out of breath. He claws at Charlotte’s legs in order to pull himself to his knees, then reaches for her shoulders to heave himself upright. “It’s her you want! Mommy Dearest! Mary Drake!”

His head feels too heavy for his neck, his thoughts are all a muddle. A wave of dizziness hits him. “What -” he whispers. “What have you done to me?”

His body slumps backwards, falls with a heavy thump into the open grave.

“What the hell?” Spencer and Melissa say in unison, coming out from their hiding place in the shrubbery.

Alison and Emily and Wren rush out from behind a nearby tree as Mona and Hanna and Aria burst out the back door of the house.

“What did you do to him?” Alison asks, leaning over far enough to nudge him with the point of her heel. He doesn’t stir.

“Nothing!” Charlotte insists. 

“Oh my god,” Aria exclaims. “You scared him to death!”

“He’s not dead,” Charlotte says, uncertainly. “He probably passed out. He smelled like he spent the night in a bourbon barrel.”

“Was it just me,” Emily asks. “Or did he sound British all of a sudden?”

Wren nods, as he lowers himself carefully into the grave. “His parents split up when he and Bethany were quite - pardon the pun - young. He went with his father, grew up in Yorkshire.” He grasps Rollins’ wrist firmly, checking for a pulse.

“Do you know who -” Spencer starts to ask. 

“Leave it, Spence,” Melissa says with a warning tone in her voice. “We’ve got bigger problems right now.”

“I’ll say,’ Wren agrees, his ear against Rollins’ chest. “The good doctor is quite dead.”


	32. Dead Men Tell No Tales

“Are you sure?” Melissa demands. 

“We don’t want anyone else buried alive,” Alison agrees. “Not even him.”

“What are you talking about - buried?” Hanna protests. “We’re not burying him! This is exactly the kind of thing that gets us on trial for murder!”

“So we call the police and tell them what?” Spencer asks. “That we were working with our former stalker, who happens to not be dead, to try and scare a confession out of Alison’s not-husband when he keeled over of totally natural causes? Am I the only one who remembers being arrested for digging up a pair of boots?”

“How do you suggest we make sure he’s dead?” Aria asks. “Shoot him in the head? Throw him in the river? Because that never ends well on Days of our Lives!”

“You watch Days?” Emily asks, curiously.

“You’re so right,” Charlotte tells Melissa. “They can’t even get away with a murder they didn’t commit.”

“What about those dead eye paralytic drugs?” Mona asks. “The kind you used on me before. Did someone dose him?”

“This isn’t that,” Wren insists. “His heart hasn’t slowed. It’s stopped.”

“Get the whiskey bottle,” Alison orders. “He must have been drugged.”

Mona nods and moves quickly toward the house, grabbing Hanna’s hand and pulling her along on the mission as well.

“By his partner, presumably,” Wren muses. “She must have wanted him out of the way.”

“Dead men tell no tales,” Spencer agrees.

“We can’t just stand around his corpse all night,” Alison urges. She turns to Emily. “We have to take care of this. Make it look like he left town or something. Then, once we tell the police that Charlotte is alive - it’s over. We can all get on with our lives.”

“Tanner would try to give us life in prison for littering!” Emily replies. “It’s never going to be over until we have proof that someone else was behind this.”

“Until we find Mary Drake,” Spencer says, grimly.

“Or until she finds us,” Aria offers. “Blood vengeance doesn’t exactly sound like she’s about to take up knitting and forget about ruining our lives.”

“She may well have planned for this,” Wren suggests. “If it’s a set up, we don’t have the luxury of time for debate. We could call for help. Make it seem like we found him here.”

“In an open grave that we just dug up?” Alison asks in disbelief. “That’s not a good look.”

“Bethany stayed buried,” Spencer says quietly. “Until Maya’s family bought the house.”

“That’s exactly what got us into this whole mess in the first place,” Emily pleads. “I don’t know what the right answer is. But I’m sorry, Ali - this isn’t it. It’s like the Jenna thing, or Sara Harvey’s unscheduled electroshock - it’s one more thing that would be hanging over us for the rest of our lives. Bethany stayed buried, but it’s eight years later and Melissa is still paying off blackmailers!”

Spencer turns to look at her sister, only then realizing that Charlotte and Melissa appear to have vanished in all the excitement. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees blue flashing lights.

“It’s already too late,” she says, urgently. “We need an alibi. Head back to the barn. _Hurry!_ ” She and Wren start running across the Hastings yard, Aria close on their heels.

“Emily - what are you waiting for?” Alison asks, trying to physically drag her away from the body.

“I’m not leaving Hanna!” Emily insists, hoping against hope that Hanna and Mona will be rushing out the back door at any moment.”

“All for one,” Lorenzo Calderon’s voice says from behind them. “One for all. Basically the definition of conspiracy.” He cocks his weapon, which is leveled at the two of them as he glances at the prone body of Elliott Rollins. “Hands above your heads, ladies.”

\----

Aria is looking over her shoulder. “Where are they?” she says, panting after Spencer and Wren. “We can’t leave them back there!”

Spencer skids to a halt as they approach the entrance to the barn. 

“The thing about looking back,” Toby says, his voice soft and his weapon raised. “You miss what’s right in front of you.” His face is in shadow and the buttons on his uniform gleam in the moonlight.

“You wouldn’t,” Spencer says, her eyes wide.

“Don’t fight it,” Toby says, his voice harder now and full of command. He pulls out a pair of handcuffs, moving towards Spencer as Wren and Aria try to block his path. “You’re all in enough trouble without resisting,” he chides them.

Spencer stares at him defiantly, then steps forward holding out her hands. He snaps the cuffs securely around her wrists, the trace of an almost fond smile at the corner of his mouth. He keeps a hand on her shoulder, motions with his gun for Aria and Wren to turn around. “You too,” he says. “You’re all under arrest.”


	33. Arrested Development

Spencer’s heart sinks as Toby herds them back into the DiLaurentis backyard, as she sees Lorenzo handcuffing Alison’s left wrist to Emily’s right. The two of them stand close together, holding hands as well as the metal bracelets will allow. Emily’s expression is worried, Ali’s defiant.

“We’re missing one,” Lorenzo observes, as they shuffle towards him. “Where’s Hanna Marin?”

“The hospital,” Alison says, lying as smoothly and effortlessly as ever. “Visiting Lucas.”

Spencer has to admire her choice of alibi, knowing the cops won’t want to question Lucas too thoroughly - or at all - for fear of his police induced gunshot wounds coming back to haunt them.

“She’s lying,” Toby says. “She probably ran off in the opposite direction.” He swipes furiously at the bushes, as if expecting Hanna to pop out at any moment.

“Doesn’t matter,” Lorenzo shrugs. “We have these four. She won’t be far behind.” He takes a pair of plastic zip ties and binds Aria’s hands. Then he straightens up and looks at Wren. 

“Dr. Kingston, you’re free to go.” A warning bell sounds in the back of Spencer’s mind.

“Sorry, could you repeat that?” Wren asks, surprised. “It sounded as if you said I’m free to go.”

“Don’t make me say it again,” Lorenzo cautions him. “Believe me, we’ve all gotten caught up with these ladies. It’s what they do. Better men than you have found themselves in compromising positions as a result of their wiles.”

“Our wiles?!” Spencer says, her voice dripping with disdain.

“Take it from me,” Lorenzo continues. “Get in your car and drive as far away from here as you can get. Go back to jolly old England.”

Wren hesitates, looking warily at the zip ties that Toby has pulled from his belt. 

“This is no time to be a gentleman,” Toby tells him. “Chivalry never kept anyone out of prison.”

“Did you kill him?” Lorenzo asks, pointedly.

“No,” Wren insists, “but-”

“But you’re a doctor,” he continues. “And I bet we’d find your prints on the body, wouldn’t we?”

Wren looks baffled by this turn of events, this entire line of conversation. “I suppose -”

“I suppose you have ten seconds to take advantage of my generosity. A free pass. From one member of the brotherhood of ex-boyfriends to another.”

“I see,” Wren nods. “Good man.” he says, clapping Lorenzo on the shoulder. “If I have only ten seconds left, I’d best use them wisely.” He turns to Spencer and leans in to kiss her quickly. He’s taking full advantage of the situation, his lips sliding against hers eagerly. She opens her mouth to protest and feels his tongue dart against hers. She puts her cuffed hands against his chest as if to push him off, the kiss is so dramatic it verges on goofy, until she feels him wedge something in her balled fist. Something that feels like a pocket knife. 

“I’ll call your father,” he whispers, his lips against her ear. “We’ll meet you at the station.” 

Without another backward glance, he saunters off into the darkness. Toby glares until he’s completely out of sight.

“Get the rest of them in the van,” Lorenzo orders. “We’ve wasted enough time.”

Toby shoves them into a rough line, ignoring the pleading looks Emily is shooting his way.

“No funny business,” he cautions, gesturing for Aria to lead them back towards the house. They straggle along, the sound of his boot clomping loudly behind them. Emily looks toward the house, wondering if Hanna might burst out the door with a frying pan, hit Toby over the head and help them all escape. 

\----------

Hanna and Mona are hiding in the kitchen closet, Mona using some kind of audio enhancing app on her phone to listen in on what’s happening in the yard.

“Why are they letting Wren go?” Hanna hisses. “And why aren’t they searching for us?”

“I don’t know,” Mona frowns. “Something feels off.”

“We need to go out there and rescue them,” Hanna insists. “Two cops, and one of them is Toby. We can take them.”

“They have guns,” Mona says. “We have an old pepper shaker and some kitchen knives.”

“We have to help them.”

“We will,” Mona promises, taking her hand. 

“Waiting makes me feel sick,” Hanna complains.

“I know, baby,” Mona says, pulling Hanna close. “But we’ve got to be smart about this.” She kisses Hanna fiercely. “I just got you,” she murmurs. “I’m not going to lose you now.”

\----------

“They’re probably making out,” Alison mutters, noting where Emily’s gaze is directed as they approach the house.

There’s a clatter from the side of the house, the rumble roll of trash cans being knocked over. Aria startles and jumps backwards, against Spencer.

Barry Maple appears in front of them, mopping his brow and sweating.

“Charlotte DiLaurentis,” he cries. “I saw her! She ran right in front of my cruiser!”

“Are you drunk?” Lorenzo asks, scornfully. “Charlotte DiLaurentis is dead.”

“I know what I saw,” Maple insists. “She came from this direction. You didn’t see her?”

“No,” Toby replies. “And neither did you. No one saw her. Not since her funeral.”

“It was probably Hanna Marin,” Lorenzo scoffs. “They all look alike, you know?”

“I should have chased her,” Maple says. “I hopped out of the car and saw your flashers. Came to make sure you boys hadn’t run into trouble.”

“Nothing we can’t handle,” Toby assures him.

“Is Tanner here?” Maple asks, taking in the sight of the Liars in handcuffs. “Dispatch sent me over to pick up Dr. Rollins on Gross Sexual Imposition. Guess his former employee turned a bunch of files over to the DA this afternoon.”

“Rollins is dead,” Lorenzo informs him. “We’re booking his lovely wife and her friends here.”

“Dead?” Maple says, his mouth opening in shock. “But - Charlotte could be the one who killed him! I saw her fleeing the scene!”

“You didn’t,” Lorenzo says, shortly. “Now stop arguing and secure the scene.”

“Secure the -” Maple’s face changes, his hand drifts slightly towards his gun belt. “What brought you boys out here? I didn’t hear a radio call.”

“Neighbors heard an argument,” Toby says, his eyes tracking Barry’s hand movements carefully.

“What neighbors?” Maple asks. “The Hastings? Called the cops on their own kid the same week the Iron Lady has a major scandal go down?”

Alison and Emily exchange a look. There hadn’t even been shouting for anyone to hear.

“Rich people, right? Who knows why they do anything,” Lorenzo says, his tone placating. “We were as shocked as you. Especially when we found the body.”

Maple’s posture relaxes a bit. “You call it in?” he asks. “Get an evidence team out here?”

“Just about to,” Lorenzo assures him. “Toby, you get the girls secured for transport and put it out on the radio. Barry, come with me - we’ll need you to stay with the body till they get here.”

Maple nods and heads off after him, while Toby hurriedly loads them into the back of the police van and slams the door. He starts the engine and thirty seconds later, Lorenzo hops in on the passenger side.

“All good?” Toby asks.

“All good,” Lorenzo confirms. 

They drive off, as the wind whips up again, blowing leaves off the windshield that float back over the roof of the house and down to the bottom of the yard, dancing over the open grave where the uniformed body of Barry Maple is flung over the corpse of Dr. Rollins.


	34. The Company You Keep

Toby is driving fast, taking corners so quickly that the Liars are being thrown around haphazardly in the back of the van.

“We’ll be there soon,” Spencer tells Aria, subtly working the pen knife back and forth across her plastic zip cuffs.

“Will we, though?” Emily asks, with a glance out the back window at the darkened road. “They must be taking some kind of short cut.”

Toby lowers the divider screen and glances at them in the rearview mirror. “No plotting back there.”

“We’re your friends,” Emily tells him. “You know we didn’t do this.”

Toby turns to face them one hand on the wheel. His face is cold and angry, his lower lip protruding in a stony sulk. “You’ve gotten away with worse. And I’m not your friend.”

“What are you talking about?” Aria asks, baffled as Spencer cuts through the zip ties enough for her to wiggle her wrists free. Spencer passes her the pen knife and Aria tries her hand at using it to pick the lock on Spencer’s handcuffs.

Spencer looks at him, dumbfounded. “Toby,” she says, in a shaky voice. “You asked me to marry you. You wanted us to get back together.”

“I wanted to keep an eye on you. I wanted to know how much you knew.”

He hits a switch on the dashboard, disabling the GPS on the police van and picks up the radio.   
“Mayday,” he calls out. “Prisoners in custody are trying to take control of the vehicle. GPS has been tampered with. Our position is four clicks northwest of -”

Alison locks eyes with Spencer. They’re heading due south. He’s not taking them to the police station.

\--------

“What are they doing?” Hanna wonders, clutching the roll bar of Barry Maple’s police cruiser. 

Mona pushes the pedal to the floor, the speedometer creeping past 100 as she drives with the headlights off, desperately trying to keep the careening van in sight.

\---------

“Where are you taking us?” Spencer asks, her voice low and deadly. 

“You never ask the right questions,” Toby replies. “It doesn’t matter where! A place where you’ll get what’s coming to you. That’s all that matters.”

“Why?” Alison asks, quietly. “Because of Jenna?”

His face twists at the sound of her voice. “Because your manipulative whore of a mother covered up my mom’s murder! Because you all walked around town acting so superior to everyone else. Like you were the only ones who mattered.”

“That’s not fair,” Emily protests.

Toby shrugs. “You are the company you keep,” he tells her.

“You mattered,” Spencer says, her voice on the edge of a sob. “I loved you! For years! You can’t tell me it didn’t mean anything!”

“It was the best way to hurt you,” he says, his voice sending a chill down Spencer’s spine. “I wanted to bring you bitches down. Love makes you stupid, Spencer. You should have realized that by now.”

“No,” Spencer says, firmly in denial. “No.”

“Did you love me when you were making out with Dean?” Toby asks. “Or Melissa’s flatmate? Or that little runt with the spray paint? Did you think I didn’t know? That I never heard the rumors? Half the school thought you were sleeping with Aria!”

“What?” Aria squeaks. “I mean, we weren’t!”

Spencer shakes her head. “None of that had anything to do with how I felt about you. We were having a rough time -”

“Save your excuses,” he says, with a savage edge to his voice. “Did you love me when you had the abortion? Without even telling me? Don’t pretend you care about anyone but yourself.”

“What are you talking about?” Spencer cries. “Have you actually lost your mind?”

“I followed you. You went to Planned Parenthood the day after you took the test!”

“I went there to get a new prescription for birth control!” Spencer protests. 

“Why should I believe you? You’ve been lying to everyone for years. It’s what you do.”

“This is insane,” Spencer tells him, trying to muster all the conviction in her voice that she can. “This isn’t real.”

“And you think you’re so smart,” he chides. “Did you think I was too stupid to be on the A-team for real? I _was_ the A-team. But you couldn’t stop thinking of me as a helpless little puppy.”

“No one thought you were a puppy!” Emily tells him.

“The visitor logs,” Spencer says suddenly. “You didn’t take them because you needed them for evidence, did you?”

“Look who just caught up!” he chuckles. “No, I took them because my name was in there.”

“Why were you visiting her,” Alison asks angrily.

“Keeping an eye on what she was telling people,” Toby shrugs. “Checking to make sure she hadn’t figured out certain parts of the big picture.”

“Careful,” Lorenzo cautions. “Don’t gloat until the deed is done.”

“What was in it for you?” Alison asks him.

“Woman, keep quiet,” Lorenzo says, a macho grin spreading across his face.

“Is it Mary Drake?” Spencer asks, pointedly. “Is she who you’re working for?”

“Of course,” Toby nods. “She was in Radley. She was friends with my mother. She told me everything. How much she loved me. How she missed me every minute. How much she wanted to come home. Until Bethany pushed her off that roof and Jessica swooped in with the suicide story.”

“Oh my god,” Spencer realizes. “You’re serious. You’re really working for her.”

The van is slowing as they approach a set of massive wrought iron gates, rusty from disuse.

“I told you, Spence. You never see what’s right in front of you.”

Out of nowhere, a police cruiser hurtles into view and shoots by them. Mona Vanderwaal twists the wheel, sending the cruiser into a high speed skid right in front of them, slamming the front of the van with the reinforced prisoner door on the side of her vehicle. 

There’s a loud crash and the sound of tearing metal, the gunpowder smell as the airbags explode. And then Hanna is using a crowbar to bust open the back of the van and they’re rushing out into the chilly night air as Mona disarms Toby and Lorenzo, both of whom are unconscious in the front seat.

Aria is limping a little and Spencer looks completely shell shocked, but everyone is more or less alright. Spencer is immobile, staring at Toby as if she’s never seen him before. She’s squinting as though trying to glimpse the outline of a familiar building through a thick fog. Mona snaps her out of her daze by grabbing Toby’s keys and unlocking her handcuffs.

“That was amazing,” Emily says, feverently.

“Seriously,” Alison agrees. “Best rescue ever.”

It’s then that she feels the sharp blade pressing against her neck. Mary Drake stands behind Alison and Emily, the spitting image of Jessica DiLaurentis, holding two lethal looking knives at their throats.


	35. Truth or Death

“I’ll take those,” Mary Drake says to Mona, nodding towards the two handguns she’s liberated from Toby and Lorenzo. Mona studies the situation carefully, and Mary responds by tightening her right wrist, pressing the knife into Alison’s throat hard enough that she breaks the skin, to make a drop of blood bead and roll down Ali’s throat, a bright red trail. Alison stays perfectly still, doesn’t even make a sound, but she puts a hand on Emily’s arm as she senses Emily tensing up for a struggle.

Mona puts her hands up in a gesture of surrender and tosses the weapons near Mary’s feet.

“Good girl,” Mary says, the slightest hint of a Southern accent still clinging to her tongue. “Now let’s not stand around gaping in the road all night.” She shoves Alison and Emily forward as she bends down to pick up the guns. She levels one of the weapons at Hanna, the other at Spencer. “Let’s get a move on,” she suggests pleasantly, making a sweeping motion towards the abandoned building hulking beyond the iron gates. 

\------

“Welcome,” Mary Drake says, sounding threatening but hospitable, she waves them inside.

The walk in together, forming a defensive clump of bodies with Alison and Aria at the center, Aria still limping and leaning heavily on Hanna’s shoulder. Spencer still seems dazed, leaving it to Mona to study their surroundings like a hawk scouting for weakness in its prey. The interior of the building is mostly in shadow, but it seems like an old industrial space with dusty machinery still lining the walls.

“Can I get anyone anything?” Mary asks, menacingly. “Iced tea? Lemonade?”

“No, thank you,” Alison manages to reply, as politely as possible.

“Suit yourself,” Mary trills. “We’re all set for a sleepover.” She hits a button and the lights go on, blinding the Liars temporarily.

Emily’s eyes adjust, and she notices a series of rooms with cots and sleeping bags, separated by transparent plastic walls. “Go to your rooms,” Jessica’s clone orders. “Don’t make me tell you again.”

The Liars exchange confused glances, but obediently follow her instructions. 

“Keep your eyes open,” Mona whispers. “Anything you can use as a shield or a weapon.”

They split up into individual rooms, still visible to each other through the clear plexiglass. The doors close and lock behind them with a mechanical whir.

Emily looks around her room. The cot seems like it would only offer the flimsiest protection, and it’s bolted to the floor. She rolls out the sleeping bag and sits down, looking over at Alison in the next room.

Mary is visible out in the open area near the entrance, and she strolls casually up to a control booth, pushing another button. Small microphones are lowered from the ceiling of each room. 

“Communication is so important,” Mary’s voice advises through tinny sounding speakers. “I want to make sure I can hear you begging for your lives.”

She flips a switch and a rumbling noise fills the building. Emily sees a pipe lowering itself from the ceiling in her room. A pipe that seems designed to look like the muffler of a car. A pipe sure to be able to fill her space with carbon monoxide in a matter of minutes. She forces herself to look over at the others. Spencer’s room has what looks like a gigantic bomb emerging from the floor. Aria’s has a lethal looking snake - maybe a boa constrictor - slithering around inside its own glass box. Hanna has a movable wall of metal spikes being lowered into place. Mona seems to be stuck in a room with a can of gasoline and a blowtorch, while Alison is looking uncomfortably at a chute that looks like the back of a toy dump truck, at the small pile of dirt it has already dumped onto the floor, to send the clear message of its ability to bury her alive. 

“What,” Hanna says, sarcastically. “No pit of alligators?”

“I would _love_ a bit of alligators,” Mary drawls. “But a gracious hostess sometimes has to make do on short notice.”

“Why all the mechanics?” Alison asks her. “If you want to kill us, why not just shoot us all?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Mary asks. “It’s like when you cheat on your diet. Or your husband. Go big or go home, I always say.”

“Let them go,” Alison suggests. “If it’s me you want, if this is about my mother-”

“How noble,” Mary snarks. “But they deserve everything they are going to get.” She brightens. “Now, we still have one more guest coming. She’s a little late to the party, but I have the perfect game for us to play to pass the time.”

Emily’s stomach sinks at the thought, although she notices that Spencer seems to be covertly signaling Alison about something.

“This one is a new twist on an old favorite,” Mary announces. “I call it Truth or Death.” She smiles in a manic way that twists her features, makes her look almost like The Joker.

“Why are you doing this?” Alison asks her aunt. 

“No dear,” Mary chides her. “I ask the questions.” She paces back and forth from the control booth, considering. “We’ll start with Miss Hastings, I think. Truth or Death!”

“What did you do to Toby?” Spencer demands. “To turn him against us?”

“Pretty eyes?” Mary chuckles. “He volunteered! An eager recruit. A few nice words about his mommy and he was putty in my hands. Frankly, I’m surprised you never suspected him. He was inches away from you that night in the Doll House.”

“He wasn’t down there,” Spencer insists, her face a mask of pain. “He wouldn’t have let her keep us in that place.”

“He’d do all kinds of things,” Mary says, with an almost girlish giggle. “He had them fake the autopsy report on Charlotte, you know. He was first on the scene. He drugged her enough to fool the medical examiner on the scene, and then helped spirit her away. He got her into and out of the casket the same way for the funeral. I think he wanted to pin her death on one of you, get that promotion he’s always going on about.” She shrugs, unconcerned with Spencer’s tears.

“Don’t try to change the subject,” Mary admonishes. “It’s quite rude. Now. You have a choice. Truth or Death.”

“Truth,” Spencer mumbles.

Mary claps her hands with glee. “Tell us about the first time you had sex with Caleb Rivers!”

Spencer goes pale, and starts crying harder. She looks apologetically at Hanna, her face drawn and streaked with tears. “We were in Madrid,” she admits. “We got drunk and watched the sunrise. I was - I’d been lonely. I know it’s no excuse.”

“Tsk, tsk,” Mary says, shaking her head. “How many days had it been? Since he left your best friend heartbroken?”

“I’m not sure,” Spencer hedges.

Mary pushes another button, and the bomb inside Spencer’s room beeps to life, flashing a red countdown clock. “Did you not hear the name of the game?”

“Six days,” Spencer says, as quietly as she can.

“Stop this,” Hanna says, pounding her fist against the wall. “You’re not going to turn us against each other!”

“So it doesn’t bother you?” Mary asks her.

Hanna purses her lips. “It’s not great,” she admits. “But it’s water under the bridge. We’d been rocky for a long time. I wasn’t exactly holing up in a nunnery myself.”

“No,” Mary agrees. “Which brings us to your question! Why all the on and off with Miss Vanderwaal? Would you say she was your second choice? Or your third?”

Hanna’s eyes blaze with fury. She looks directly at Mona as she answers. “Mona isn’t anyone’s second choice. She’s the right choice. She always has been. I was just too scared to see it.”

“Scared?” Mary asks, her voice almost gentle. “Scared of what people might say? Your friends?”

“Scared because of what happened before,” Hanna counters. “I wanted to trust her, but I - I wasn’t sure.”

“Because of the way she stalked you,” Mary nods. “Violated every bond of friendship. Terrorized you. Destroyed every last shred of your privacy. Watched through binoculars while you and the irresistible Caleb Rivers engaged in lewd acts together.”

Hanna’s swallows hard, not wanting to give Mary the satisfaction of a flinch. “She was sick. She’s better now.”

Mary makes a tutting sound and turns a dial that moves the metal spikes a few feet forward.

“It’s still a lie,” she says. “Even if you believe it.”

Emily sees Spencer using Mary’s focus on Hanna to subtly cut the wires on the bomb with Wren’s pocket knife. She looks up at the muffler, then casually takes off one of her sneakers, peeling a sock off with one hand.

“Mona Vanderwaal,” Mary laughs. “What say you tell Hanna exactly what you were doing in Miami?”

“I was registering voters for the DNC,” Mona says smoothly. “I got a picture with Debbie Wasserman-Schultz.”

“Mmmmm,” Mary responds. “But hadn’t they been asking for volunteers to lead that project for months? And yet, the moment Hanna landed there, fresh off her break up - you rushed in to do your part for democracy?” She pushes a button and gasoline spurts from the can, soaking Mona’s shoes. 

Mona stays silent. Mary pushes the button again, and a steady drip of gasoline coats the floor of the room. The look on Mona’s face is full of anguish, she’d clearly almost rather get burned to death than force the words out of her mouth. She closes her eyes.

“I guessed Hanna’s password. I read through her emails.”

Mary claps her hands with glee. “Medicated and reformed! You had her flight itinerary. Her meetings schedule. You knew she’d be in that bar trying to negotiate a celebrity spokesman for the new Men’s Line. You knew Caleb was recently history! Isn’t this fun?!”

Hanna sits down heavily on her cot.

“Hanna, I’m sorry!” Mona says, on the brink of tears. “I went down there to make sure you were okay. I didn’t plan to - to take advantage of you, I swear!”

Hanna doesn’t even look up to meet her eyes.

Alison raps on the wall to get Hanna’s attention. “This is what she wants,” Ali tells her, pointing at Mary. “People make mistakes, Hanna. It doesn’t change how you feel about each other!” 

Mary Drake checks her watch. “There’s just enough time to test that little theory, Alison.”

“Why are you doing this?” Alison asks. “I never did anything to you! None of us did! We didn’t even know about you until a few days ago!”

“Fruit of the poisoned tree,” Mary mutters. “Don’t change the subject. How would you like to share a few secrets with the class? With your little love struck girlfriend?”

“It’s in poor taste to play with your guests like little cat toys,” Alison tells her. “My mother taught me better manners.”

“Your mother,” Mary says, her face redddening. “Your mother was -” She catches herself. “Oh, I see. Very good, dear. She taught you well. But how about we have you unburden yourself about how you convinced Maya St. Germain to come back to this podunk town to help you?”

Alison shakes her head, as Mary pushes a button that starts filling her room with dirt. Alison stands calmly on top of the cot. Emily watches until the dirt is deep enough that it fills in all the space on the floor, until the cot is submerged and it’s pouring up to Alison’s ankles.

“Stop it!” she cries. “Ali, for godsakes - just tell me!”

“She didn’t do it to balance her stupid karma,” Alison admits. Mary pulls a lever and leans in eagerly as the shower of dirt stops. “I blackmailed her.”

Mona is shaking her head, as if to signal for Alison to stop, but she continues grimly. She looks like she used to look in court, Emily thinks. Like she can’t actually believe what’s happening to her.

“It was over something that happened a long time ago. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

“Let them be the judge of that,” Mary instructs.

“Fine,” Alison says. “Fine. She killed Ian Thomas.”

“What?!” Spencer and Emily say in unison.

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Emily insists.

“Did they even know each other?” Spencer asks.

“Why would she kill him?” Aria wonders out loud.

Alison sighs. “The first party she went to at Noel’s cabin, things got a little wild. She made out with Jenna in front of everyone. Ian offered her money to set up girls for his N.A.T. video collection. But she didn’t need money, she needed Wilden off her back. Ian had cameras everywhere, he had dirt on almost everyone in town. He promised to help her, if she’d do a little favor for him.” Alison takes a deep breath. “He wanted her to make a video with Emily.”

Emily blinks hard. “What?”

“It was my fault,” Alison says miserably. “I gave you that snow globe to lead you to the hidden flash drive. He knew I trusted you the most. He thought if he had leverage - that you’d give him whatever he wanted to keep your secret.”

“But -” Emily sputters. “How did he even know I wanted to kiss girls? I hadn’t told _anyone_. Was it Jenna? Did she tell him about how hard I was staring at her on Halloween?” 

“Em,” Aria says, softly. “I don’t think it was Jenna.” She shifts her eyes significantly towards Alison, who now looks like she’s preparing to face a firing squad.

“She had a webcam, she used it for her blog. She went along with it for awhile. Until she got to know you,” Alison continues, talking to Emily directly. “She backed out when she started really having feelings for you. He was desperate. The second she got out of rehab, he started contacting her again, threatening to fill her parents in on the fact that she was dealing if she didn’t help him. She drove down to talk to him, to try and calm him down, but he was like an angry bear - drunk on PBR and pain meds. He started threatening her, she pulled out a can of pepper spray, he pointed the gun at her, they struggled - long story short, he winds up with a hole in his head. Mona came along later and staged the suicide.”

“He was a sleazebag,” Mona says quietly. “I didn’t know, then, it was Maya. I thought it was Spencer. Or Hanna. I wanted to help them get away with it.”

“Still interested in riding off into the sunset with her?” Mary Drake asks Emily. “Or did happily ever after turn into happily ever over?”

Emily ignores her, focusing instead on Alison. “It was you? You told Ian?”

Alison looks at her pleadingly. “He had a video of us at the Kissing Rock. I deleted it and played it off like a joke. I told him - I told him I wasn’t like that, but you were.” Her eyes are wet and she looks like a completely different person. Like the hardness of her usual armor has burst open, revealing an unexpectedly vulnerable underbelly. Emily feels her heart twist into another knot, a new loop on top of all the old threads Alison already had bound to herself. 

“Please,” Ali says. “I didn’t know what to do with the way I felt about you. I hated myself, Emily. You were the best thing in my crazy, fucked up life, and I still hated how it felt. I hated how much I needed you. I was afraid, if you found out, you’d use it against me somehow.” 

“Touching, I’m sure,” Mary Drake cuts in coldly. “But a nuanced betrayal is still a betrayal, n’est pas?”

“We’re done,” Alison chokes out. “No more games.”

“Just one more,” Mary Drake says, her features looking almost reptilian as she smiles again. “Emily, dear - what if I let you go?”

“What’s the catch?” Emily asks, warily. 

“Your life for Alison’s.”

“No,” Emily says immediately.

“Alison,” Mary asks. “You get the other side of the question. Would you let me kill you if I promised to let Emily go?”

“Yes,” Alison says, without hesitation. 

“Any of us would make that deal,” Spencer says.

“Just for Emily?” Mary asks curiously. 

“For any of us,” Hanna responds. “We’re all in, here.”

“Mmmm,” Mary muses. “Aria. You have a very bright future ahead of you. You can get your own book deal. See your name at the top of the New York Times Best Seller list. Buy a big house on the beach when you sell the movie rights.”

Aria shrinks away from her notice, as if repulsed. 

“And,” Mary Drake says, “I have a bit of a soft spot for you. I always did like your uncle.” She sighs. “So. Why throw all that away?” She presses a button and the lid of the snake box opens. The snake stirs, moving his head slowly as if getting oriented. “Would you trade?” Mary asks, “your life for Mona’s?”

Aria’s gaze flies up at the unexpected question. “Mona isn’t my favorite person,” she tells Mary. “But I don’t make deals with monsters.”

Hanna breathes a sigh of relief as Aria bravely hoists herself on top of the glass box, forcing the lid to close.

“Well,” Mary says, sourly. “Isn’t that boring.”

“Looks like I got here just in time,” a voice says as the main door swings open to reveal Charlotte DiLaurentis frowning at the scene in front of her.


	36. Sins of the Fathers

“So glad you could make it!” Mary enthuses. “Sorry for the last minute invite, but the best parties are sometimes impromptu!”

“I thought they were lying,” Charlotte says, her eyes frozen on her mother’s face. “Jessica told me you were dead.”

“Jessica,” Mary says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “So small minded. Expecting everyone to be uptight and judgemental if they found out she had an evil twin.”

“It was you, then?” Charlotte asks. “You pretended to be her? You told me what to do? How to hurt them?”

“Of course,” Mary nods. “And you were so good at it! A natural! A chip off the old block!” 

“Why?” Charlotte asks. “Why didn’t you tell me you were my mother? After everything I’d been through-”

“I had to consider the big picture,” Mary tells her. “Jessica had them lock me away in Radley and throw away the key. Solitary confinement. Straitjackets. Limited contact with the staff. But I came out ahead in the end. Not everyone had forgotten about me. I had a helper. An angel. A man who took pity on me. He weaned me off the sedatives until I was almost myself again. One night when the security staff was searching the grounds for two other escaped patients, he smuggled me out in a laundry bin and I escaped.”

“Was it Wren Kingston?” Charlotte asks.

“Of course not,” Mary scoffs. “It was an orderly. Eddie Lamb.”

“Did you switch places with her?” Charlotte asks. “The night Bethany and I ran away?”

Mary nods. “Jessica saw you hit Alison with that rock. But before she could get outside, I stuffed her into a closet while you were sobbing over Ali’s body. I helped you bury her. They told me Charles was dead. But I recognized you the moment I saw you. It was magical. Like you were your own twin.”

Charlotte’s frown gets more pronounced. “Not really,” she says, gruffly. “And how much could you have loved me if you sent me right back to Radley! Under lock and key!”

“But with an airtight alibi,” Mary explains. “I dragged Jessica back there myself, and locked her in there in my place. I decided to leave town. Alison’s death gave me a perfect cover to ditch the yawn of a husband and that ghastly house.” She shakes her head. “I should have stayed gone, I suppose. But everything happening back here was just so close to my heart. The answer to my prayers, really.”

Spencer catches sight of a shadowy figure moving silently along the far wall. All of Jessica’s attention is focused on Charlotte. She looks at the others, noting that Aria is using strips of her sleeping bag to tie the lid of the snake box shut. Emily is stuffing a sock into the exhaust pipe of the fake muffler. Mona is carefully dismantling a piece of the interior portion of the blowtorch, rendering it useless, while Hanna tries to subtly break off one of the lower metal spikes with her heel. She feels a surge of hope.

“What did you have against them?” Charlotte asks. “If you helped me bury Alison, what did they matter to you?”

“They matter,” Mary Drake insists. “More than you know.”

\---------------

_It was a dark and stormy night in Rosewood. Lightning flashed outside the windows of the DiLaurentis house, as Peter Hastings pressed Jessica against the kitchen counter and kissed her._

_“Do you want us to get caught?” she asked him._

_Neither saw Mary’s face pressed against the window._

_\------_

_Jessica walked confidently through the halls of Radley. She’d finally found a place that would be discreet about her sister. Forced Kenneth into a donation large enough that she’d be placed on the board. Mary was listed as a voluntary commitment for now, but surely when they realized how ill she was, they wouldn’t think of letting her leave._

_She strode past the chapel and into a small office to wait for her sister. They were going to try family counseling. Their facilitator walked in and sat down, smiling pleasantly. Jessica didn’t especially like him, but he at least he knew how to keep a secret._

_Mary swept into the room. “I have news,” she told them. “I’m pregnant!”_

_\----------_

_“He’s threatening a lawsuit,” Jessica laments. “The brother. Byron Snootgomery.”_

_“Let me talk to him,” Peter says, an arm around her shoulder. “Man to man. Maybe we can come up with a solution.”_

_\-----------_

_“She’s a Jezebel!” Byron shouts, gesticulating wildly. “A harlot! She got him kicked out of the rehab program!”_

_“She’s dangerous and unpredictable,” Peter agrees. “We need to make sure she can’t cause any further trouble for him. Or for you.”_

_“It’s the principle of the thing,” Byron says, self-righteously._

_“Yes of course,” Peter says, smoothly. He pauses ever so slightly. “How much money would it take for you to settle?”_

_\-----------_

_“We’ll need some kind of shell company,” Peter suggests, shirtless and smoking one of Kenneth’s cigars on the rumpled sheets of the guest bedroom. “To handle the pay out.”_

_“She has a trust fund,” Jessica offers. “But I hold the purse strings. We could siphon some of it off.”_

_“You’re thinking small,” Peter says. “If this works, she’ll be locked away permanently. She won’t need it anymore. We might as well put it all in your name. That way it’ll be available someday. For the kiddo.”_

_“It might be a bit complicated,” Jessica hedges. “There are certain stipulations for her care. My parents didn’t want her to be indigent, or a burden on the state.”_

_“I know someone who’ll take care of all that for us. Finance guy. I golf with him at the club. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of everything.”_

_\----------_

_“You have a visitor,” his secretary says over the intercom. “No appointment. It’s a Mrs. DiLaurentis.”_

_“Yes,” Peter says, clearing his throat. “Please send her in.”_

_His visitor walks in and closes the door behind her. She’s wearing a trench coat and a naughty expression on her face. Peter locks the door. Hopes the partners won’t notice._

_She claws at him as they make love on the couch, leaves scratches on his back. He’ll have to wear a t-shirt to bed for a week or Veronica will start asking questions. Still, it’s exhilarating. She’s like a drug. “What’s gotten into you?” he asks. She seems full of raw passion, her skin looks like it’s glowing._

_“I’m grateful,” she says coyly. “I know you’re going to help me take care of my sister.”_

_“I am,” he promises. “I will.”_

_“I’m nervous, Peter. What if it doesn’t work?”_

_“It will.”_

_“I get so nervous. Just run me through the details one more time, would you? I’d feel so much better.”_

_\-----------_

_Pam Fields was pushing her shopping cart through the narrow aisles of the local market. She was flipping through her pocket book, sure that she had a coupon this week for Hamburger Helper._

_She stops cold in the middle of the cereal aisle, frowning at a woman in a long trench coat eating fist fulls of Fruit Loops right out of the box. She shakes her head disapprovingly, notices that there’s an open jar of pickles in the woman’s cart as well. What is the world coming to, she wonders, about to retreat to the dairy section. But then the grocery grazer turns around, and Pam feels a shock of recognition._

_“Jessica?” she says tentatively. “It’s Pam. From the library book club?”_

_The woman looks at her suspiciously._

_“I hope we read Dick Francis next month,” Pam presses on, trying her best to be friendly. “I love a good mystery.” She watches as her new acquaintance shoves a handful of cereal back into the box, wipes her hand on her coat and nods._

_“Me, too.” she says. “Me too.”_

_\--------_

_Pam knocks on the door of the DiLaurentis house later that afternoon. Jessica is sitting at the head of the dining room table with three men, none of whom are her husband. Pam feels a surge of disapproval, wondering what kind of lady Jessica DiLaurentis is. Then again, they have papers and briefcases. She shouldn’t be so close minded, she tells herself. Should keep out of other people’s business._

_Jessica comes to the door and smiles brightly, looking perfectly put together. “Pam,” she says, warmly. “So nice to see you again!”_

_She steps out onto the porch, closes the door behind her. “What can I do for you?”_

_“I wanted to apologize,” Pam says. “For earlier, at the grocery store.”_

_Jessica furrows her brow._

_“I know I was looking at you as if you were from outer space,” Pam continues. “It’s just, I’m still getting used to things around here. We don’t know many people. And I saw you with the open jar of pickles, shoving that sugary cereal into your mouth - and I just thought it was another strange thing about this strange little town. But then I got home, and I thought it over, and it dawned on me.”_

_“It dawned on you,” Jessica repeats._

_“Congratulations!” Pam says. “Have you told Kenneth yet? Is he over the moon?”_

_Jessica’s laugh seems forced, tense like a guitar string about to snap. “I haven’t told him,” she whispers, conspiratorially. “But of course you figured it out! I’m pregnant! Why else would I be eating processed sugar, right?”_

_Pam laughs, too. “Wayne and I are going to start trying.” She blushes at the thought. “Once he gets promoted. He’s away so much now, I’d be on my own most of the time.”_

_“Well,” Jessica says, clearly jittery. “When the time is right, it’s right. I might go back to Georgia for a few months. Be with my mother. Let her take care of me a little.”_

_Pam nods, wondering what kind of a marriage this woman has. Something just doesn’t seem as it should be. She pulls a book out of her purse._

_“I just finished this one,” she says, handing Jessica the latest Dick Francis novel._

_Jessica reads the back flap skeptically. “I’ll give it a try,” she promises. “But I don’t care much for mysteries._

_\------------_

_“We have to accelerate the time frame,” Jessica insists. “She’s able to get out, to wander the town. Who knows what plots she’s hatching against me right this minute?”_

_“I’m not sure about this,” Tom Marin says, hesitatingly._

_“Think of the commission checks,” Peter tells him. “Twenty years worth, at the very least. A deal this size, it could make your career.”_

_“And she is a nutcase,” Byron Montgomery assures him. “We’re doing the town a favor.”_

_“What are we calling it?” Tom asks, filling out the paperwork for the shell company. “We’ll need a name, a destination for the money we’re wiring out of the trust.”_

_Peter rests his hand next to Jessica’s, just close enough that his thumb grazes her pinkie. “Carissimi,” he says._

_Byron looks at the two of them, and Peter has a flash of panic. Leave it to that little runt of an Art History professor to speak Italian. But Byron doesn’t say anything, just quirks a sardonic eyebrow and signs his name to the paper with a flourish. Peter and Jessica sign as well, then pass the paper to Tom, who signs and notarizes._

_\------------_


	37. Hobson's Choice

“And just like that, with a few strokes of a pen, they made me a ward of the state. Threw me in solitary confinement. Limited my visitors, my contact with the outside world! They stole all of my money! And when you were born, they hustled you away. They kept me drugged and sedated. I was living a half life, barely lucid. It went on for years.”

“Whenever I could string two thoughts together, they were always about how I could make them pay. All of them. Whoever they were. I didn’t know anything about you, that she’d returned you to Radley as casually as she’d take back a pair of shoes that pinched her feet. But when I found out, I knew I wanted vengeance for the both of us.” 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Hanna interrupts. “You’re on a revenge mission against my father? I haven’t even seen my dad since he refused to pony up for college. If you want revenge against him, you need a different hostage, lady.”

“Didn’t you wonder where the Carissimi money came from?” Mary asks. “He was trying to make things right. Too bad for you, really. It proved how much he cares.” 

“My mom was trying to be nice to you,” Emily says. “She wanted to be your friend. Or Jessica’s friend. She didn’t mean to get you locked in a psych ward for twenty years!”

“I was going to switch places with Jessica the next day,” Mary growls. “And it might have worked, if your mother wasn’t such an infernal busybody.” She smooths the front of her blouse. “Now come up here, Charlotte. We can kill them together.”

“No,” Alison says. “Charlotte, I don’t care who your parents are. You’re my sister. I love you! Don’t do this!”

Charlotte climbs the ladder to the control booth. “Do you know who tried to kill me?” she asks.

“I assume one of them,” Mary says. “I tried to find out who, but they wouldn’t crack. Which, if we kill them all, we’ll get the right one anyway.”

“Did you kill Dr. Rollins?” Mona asks.

“He’d outlived his usefulness,” Mary says, unrepentantly. “I have all the money he took from Carissimi. You have the cash from Lucas Gottesman and the Hastings girl. We can buy a private island. Have fabulous parties and expensive booze and no extradition treaties.”

Charlotte stands on the platform of the control booth with her mother.

“We could be a family,” Mary promises.

“No,” Alison calls out. “You have a family! Charlotte, you have me.”

“But for how long?” Mary asks. “Supposing Emily forgives you your _many_ trespasses, are you all going to be sitting around the breakfast table, having your girlfriend ask her ex-stalker to please pass her the orange juice?”

Charlotte gets a dark look on her face.

“Why not?” Emily asks, suddenly. Alison whips her head around, her expression suddenly hopeful in spite of their circumstances. 

“Alison is my family,” Emily tells her. “Charlotte is her sister. That - that makes Charlotte my family, too.”

“And mine,” Spencer adds. “Ali and I share a brother. Why not a sister, too?”

“They’re teasing you,” Mary says, disapprovingly. “We should go ahead and kill them already.”

“It’s not a joke,” Hanna replies. She gestures towards the other Liars. “That’s how this works. Whatever our parents did, however badly they fucked things up - we’re not them. We didn’t choose the families we were born into. But everything we went through in high school - a lot of which, okay, you put us through - we chose each other. Every single day.”

“She’s right,” Aria says. “And I mean, even if you weren’t already related to me - Hanna and I, apparently we have kind of a soft spot for our ex-stalkers.”

“Please,” Mona mutters, slightly offended. “I am way hotter than Fitz.”

“Ah-he-hem,” Mary says, clearing her throat dramatically. “If you girls could stop the chattering for a few seconds, we’re deciding how much longer you have to live over here. Now, Charlotte, honey - just push the green button and we’ll get to watch them suffer horribly! What do you think? Pretty good for our first mother-daughter day!”

“Don’t listen to her,” Alison implores. “She’s manipulating you!”

“She lies,” Mary says, dismissively. “They’re all liars.”

The shadowy figure reaches the area directly underneath the control booth, and puts a gloved hand on the a giant metal power lever.

“Do it,” Mary goads her daughter. “You’re nothing to them. They look at you and they see a criminal. A freak.”

Charlotte’s hand moves so fast it’s practically a blur. It skims right over the green button and smacks Mary Drake hard across the face. She staggers backward, off balance, then loses her footing and topples off the platform, falling at least fifteen feet before she lands with a heavy thud on the concrete floor.

“Finally,” Melissa Hastings sighs, flipping off the power. The electronic locks of the room doors spring open. “A girl could starve to death listening to all this back story.”

Charlotte climbs down the ladder as the Liars hurry out of their plexiglass chambers. “Is she dead?”

“If we’re lucky,” Melissa says, matter-of-factly. 

“They never called me a freak,” Charlotte says, shaking her head as she watches the blood pool beneath Mary Drake’s head.

“I know, I know,” Melissa says, putting an arm around Charlotte’s shoulder and steering her away from the body. “If they were any more open minded, their brains would fall out. If they haven’t already.” 

The others make their way over, Alison wrapping her arms around Charlotte in an enthusiastic hug. “You saved us!”

“From like, six bizarre and elaborate death traps!” Hanna adds, grinning.

Charlotte frowns. “Why are you doing that with your face?”

Hanna pats her cheeks. “What’s wrong?” She turns to Mona. “Oh god, I always knew this side of my face was fatter than the other!”

“No,” Charlotte clarifies. “Why are you smiling like that? I’m not holding you to that whole we’re a family thing, okay? People say lots of things when they think they’re about to die.”

“I didn’t say it because I was about to die,” Emily says. “Besides, I sabotaged the muffler. I wasn’t about to die, I was just locked in.”

“Me too,” Spencer agrees. “I disarmed that bomb in about five seconds. It was so easy, I was insulted.”

Charlotte’s face twitches, and a tear trickles down slowly from her right eye. Emily hugs her with one arm, the wrapping her other arm around Alison. Hanna follows suit, nuzzling Mona’s neck fondly as she pulls her into the group hug that Spencer and Aria are joining from the other side. 

“Yeah, yeah,” Melissa says impatiently. “They all meant it. How many times do I have to tell you? They’re really terrible liars.” She gestures towards the door. “Are we going to stand here holding hands and singing Kumbaya all night? Or can we get tacos now?”

“Tacos!” Hanna says, brightly. “And maybe ice cream?”

Mona nods, kissing Hanna gently on the corner of her mouth. “Almost dying burns TONS of calories.”

They walk out into the cool night air and head for Spencer’s SUV. 

“Sorry about the pig’s blood,” Melissa tells her. “I had to improvise.”

“You’re paying to have it detailed,” Spencer says as she surveys the damage.

“Don’t look at me,” Melissa protests. “Charlotte has all of my money! I’m a pauper. One of you needs to buy me dinner.”

“I’ve got you,” Charlotte says as she walks around to the driver’s side and unlocks the door.

“Look out!” Emily yells, half a second before a hooded figure bursts out of the car with a butcher knife raised and pounces directly at Charlotte.


	38. Everything That Rises Must Converge

Charlotte moves to put the car door between her and the knife wielding maniac, using it as both a weapon and a shield as she tries to pin him with it. Emily is already in motion, grabbing the assailant in a chokehold from behind. He stomps on her foot and she loosens her grip as Alison makes a grab for his hood. He shakes them both off, dodging Spencer and Melissa as he scampers off. Hanna throws a shoe after him, which hits him squarely in the back as he flees.

Spencer tears after him, running hard and gaining ground until he reaches the treeline and a motorcycle engine roars to life. The attacker zooms out, now wearing a red helmet, and drives in a straight line right at the group still standing around Spencer’s car. He skids to a stop ten feet away and throws the knife, aiming deliberately at Charlotte’s head. Mona knocks Charlotte to the ground and Aria throws herself on top of both of them.

The knife zings above them and lands hard, shattering the windshield and embedding itself into the leather of the driver’s side headrest.

“You’re paying for that, too!” Spencer calls, as she jogs back over. 

“Unbelievable,” Charlotte grumps, standing up and brushing the gravel off her clothes. 

“What,” Spencer says. “My insurance is high enough as it is.”

“No,” Charlotte says, rolling her eyes. “All this and we’re right back where we started.”

“We are,” Alison nods grimly. “Someone’s still trying to kill you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story is so close to the finish line! And I'm going to have it finished before the show comes back tonight, one way or another. I have most of the rest of it already written, but I'm leaving off here for now - so as not to spoil the final reveal! Get in your final bets on the identity of Uber A!


	39. Boys and Their Toys

They’re piled into the car, Aria and Mona having been relegated to the cargo bay to try and make enough room for everyone.

“I feel like I have glass in my hair,” Emily says, as Alison obligingly runs her fingers through Emily’s dark tangled locks to check.

“Food first. We’ve never solved a mystery on an empty stomach,” Hanna declares.

“You’ve never solved a mystery, period,” Melissa points out.

“Well I’m not in the mood to just sit here and wait for motorcycle man to come back and try again,” Charlotte announces, turning the key in the ignition and starting the car. The doors lock automatically, and the steering wheel spins to the right all on its own, guiding them back out onto the road.

“This isn’t good,” Spencer opines. “My car doesn’t usually drive itself.”

“What are the chances it’s taking us somewhere harmless?” Aria asks. “Maybe a dog rescue? Or a bookstore?”

“More like a cliff,” Mona theorizes. “Or it’ll smash us into a telephone pole or something.”

“Charlotte,” Melissa says, “Switch places with me. If they know you’re in the driver’s seat -”

Charlotte’s eyes widen, and she stands and awkwardly slides over to the passenger’s side. Melissa buckles herself in behind the wheel. She grabs the gearshift and tries to switch them out of drive, into neutral or reverse. She stomps on the brakes and tries removing the key from the ignition. Nothing. She starts pulling wires out from underneath the dashboard at random, but nothing stops the steady progress of the vehicle, which seems to be gaining speed and heading back towards town. 

“Should we try to jump out?” Hanna asks. But of course the windows are all locked and going out the conveniently shattered windshield would mean the car would run them over almost instantly. Mona and Aria are groping around for something to use to try to break the back window out when the radio console lights up. A message scrolls across the screen that normally displays Spencer’s satellite radio information.

IT ENDS TONIGHT. 

\-----------

Before they can formulate any kind of cohesive plan, the car is hurling them at top speed back to the town square.

“Are we headed where I think we’re headed?” Spencer asks.

“Where it all started,” Charlotte nods.

The church looms in front of them, the bell tower a dark silhouette against the sky.

“It’s Ezra,” Emily whispers. “He hacked my GPS just like this.”

“It’s not Ezra,” Aria insists. “This isn’t his style.”

The car slows and rolls to a stop. Melissa unbuckles her seatbelt and prepares to hop out of the shattered windshield when the doors unlock. They exchange dubious glances and cautiously climb out of the possessed vehicle.

Lorenzo and Toby, out of uniform but dressed in matching dark suits and holding identical shotguns step out of the shadows.

“You two again?” Alison asks, rolling her eyes. “You’re so forgettable, I didn’t even wonder where you went.”

“Get inside,” Lorenzo growls. _“Now.”_

Toby is sporting some cuts and bruises on his forehead. Spencer puts a hand on his elbow as they walk towards the front door. “I don’t want us to end like this,” she tells him. He looks at her suspiciously, without responding. She brushes a hand through his hair. “Do they hurt?” she asks, her eyes on his injuries.

“Not much,” he answers.

“How about now?” she asks, striking him in the head with her closed fist at the same moment she knees him in the groin. He goes down hard. Alison and Melissa try to rush Lorenzo, but he fires his shotgun at Spencer, and the rest of the Liars hit the ground.

The shell whizzes past Spencer’s head, so close that it ruffles her hair, leaves a heat trail millimeters away from her ear. She turns and looks at Lorenzo defiantly, then spits in Toby’s face.

“Boys and their toys,” she says, scornfully. “You don’t scare me.”

Toby swings his shotgun, burying the stock in her ribs as hard as he can. Spencer gasps as she feels the swift sharp pain, as the crack of at least one rib sounds sickeningly through the quiet of the square at this hour.

“Maybe you should be,” Toby sneers, wiping his face on his sleeve. Aria, still limping a little herself, steadies Spencer as they head inside. 

The sign in front bears an ominous message: “Hell is empty and all of the devils are here.”

The interior of the church is lit by hundreds of candles. Eight empty coffins are spread out in front of the altar, with large portrait sized pictures of each of the Liars above them, Charlotte at the center, and Melissa and Mona on each end.

“This is a little melodramatic, don’t you think?” Alison asks, her voice echoing through the empty pews.

“Why is your Homecoming Queen picture so much nicer than mine?” Melissa asks Hanna, studying their photos. “Did you have it retouched?”

Lorenzo locks the front doors and takes up a position to guard them. Toby does the same with the side entrance.

The organ starts playing, although there’s no one seated in on the bench. The strains of Bach’s “Ode to Joy” break over them.

“I think it’s Wren,” Aria whispers, worried. 

“He’s not big on religion,” Spencer replies. 

“Other than thinking he’s God’s gift to women,” Charlotte adds. “But he helped me. When I was in Radley, and after I faked my death - he helped me stay in hiding. He put me in touch with Melissa. He could have killed me a hundred times.”

“Please be seated,” a familiar voice instructs from behind them.

A figure appears, in full church vestments, scattering leafy strands of palms on the floor as if Easter is coming early.

It’s not Wren. It’s not even Ezra. It’s the smiling face of Sean Ackard, his eyes lit with religious zeal.


	40. The Man Upstairs

“ _You?”_ Hanna says, in a tone of shocked disbelief. “Seriously?” She folds her arms over her chest. “This is what happens when you refuse to get laid! True love waits and withers and gets all murdery!”

“I never tried to hurt you, Hanna,” Sean responds calmly. “But please, check the licentiousness of your tongue. We’re in a house of the Lord.”

“Being held at gunpoint!” Aria exclaims. “I’m so glad I never went out with you!” 

“I don’t believe it,” Charlotte says, skeptically. “This little pipsqueak? He looks like he wandered out of a boy band catalog. He’s the one who’s been trying to kill me?”

“I’m just the instrument,” Sean says, humbly. “I do the bidding of the man upstairs.”

“You take your marching orders from God?” Mona asks. “People should really be reading the warning labels, that’s all I’m saying.”

“Why would you say that?” Sean asks. “You remember how it felt, don’t you? The certainty. The purpose. It all comes from him.”

“That’s great,” Emily tells him. “But maybe you could just teach Sunday school or something? Instead of trying to terrorize and murder us?”

“I do what I’m told,” Sean says, his eyes moving towards the heavens. “He’ll be here soon. You won’t have long to wait.”

“Jesus is coming?” Melissa asks him. “To what - kill us all in person? What kind of belief system is this?”

“Jesus has nothing to do with it,” a second voice explains, as footsteps descend the steps from the bell tower. “We’re old fashioned, old testament folks around here.”

“The man upstairs,” Alison mutters.

“Thank you all for coming,” Pastor Ted says, smiling broadly as he steps into the pulpit. “Please, as Sean said, be seated.”

“Is he really going to do a funeral service?” Emily whispers.

“I might die of boredom,” Charlotte mutters.

The Liars file into two pews near the front and sit down.

“Rosewood is a perfect town,” Pastor Ted begins. “Full of good people. Godly men and women. On the surface, it’s all pretty scenery and white picket fences. But even the prettiest face can be rotten underneath.”

“Amen!” Lorenzo calls from the back.

“And as Eve offered the apple to the hapless Adam, as Bathsheba bathed wantonly on the rooftop, as Salome demanded the head of John the Baptist - so are you ladies their spiritual heirs. Fruit of the corrupt and wicked loins of your fathers, you’re bad seeds that have sown perversity and cruelty and wickedness among all those your lives have touched.”

“But that ends tonight. When I first met Mary Drake, through our spiritual crisis counseling at Radley, my heart went out to her. A fallen woman, repenting her sins, suffering for years at the hands of the greedy, the evil doers, her perpetually fornicating sister and her married lover. I heard her story. I watched you grow up. I saw you -” he pauses to point at Spencer and Alison “laughing, heckling a classmate for raising her voice to the heavens in this very church.”

“Which was wrong,” Spencer says, speaking slowly. “But not as evil as, for example, killing people. Or kidnapping them. Or -”

“Mona,” he says fondly. “I’d have spared you, if I could. You have the voice of an angel.”

Mona is staring at him in absolute horror. “I was getting messages, wasn’t I? You were changing the notes in the hymnal! I didn’t imagine it! It was you!”

“You were so good,” he says, his voice full of nostalgia. “A vessel of pure and righteous rage. We’d talked about your struggles, of course. You’re insecurity. Your envy of Alison and her friends.”

“I trusted you!” Mona says. “I was fourteen years old!”

“Joan of Arc was seventeen when she conquered France.”

Mona looks at him with deep disgust.

“This isn’t the Middle Ages,” Melissa protests. 

“More’s the pity,” he agrees. “People had such faith. But where was I? Oh yes. As the Good Book tells us - he who brings dishonor upon his house shall inherit the wind. If your right eye offends thee - pluck it out. You are the right eye, all of you! The daughter of the woman who robbed a safety deposit box stealing $300 sunglasses from the mall. The daughter whose father had an affair with his student going on to seduce her English teacher. The man who sleeps with his neighbors wife begetting a girl who habitually arouses her older sister’s boyfriends. And worst of all - the unnatural corruption of lesbianism.” He nods at Hanna and Mona and Alison. “You see how the disease started with Emily, and then spread? The devil has long legs and a soft voice.”

Alison laughs in his face. He glowers at her. “I’m sorry,” she gasps. “This is all so ridiculous!”

“It’s not,” Pastor Ted insists, his voice quiet and deadly. “You did this to them. Made them who they are. Strutting around in their barely there outfits, parading the temptations of the flesh. Enticing half the men in town and then rejecting them! What did they expect? They wanted it! They craved the attention!”

“Feel free to shut the entire fuck up,” Hanna tells him, angrily. “I was rooting for you! I wanted you to be my step-dad!”

“I needed to keep a closer eye on you,” he explains. “Did you really think I would still want your mother after she’d been used by Darren Wilden? And Jason DiLaurentis? A woman with so little self-respect? So lacking in moral fiber?”

“You leave Ashley Marin alone,” Mona scolds him, putting a comforting hand on Hanna’s knee.

“But why are you trying to kill Charlotte all over town?” Alison asks, curiously. “You _liked_ her mother.”

“He liked me, too,” Charlotte says. “That’s why, isn’t it?”

“Silence,” he bellows. 

“She didn’t tell you, did she? That I was her daughter.”

“Because you are not her daughter,” he says, a vein on his head throbbing. “She told me her son was dead. She told me you were a distant cousin she’d recruited to help her. She never told me what you were!”

“Who she is,” Alison corrects him.

“She’s not a woman,” he sputters. “She’s an abomination!”

“You’re an abomination!” Emily shouts at him. “You’re twisting the Bible all around trying to make it fit your own warped world view!”

“ _That’s_ why you wanted to kill her?” Hanna says, appalled. “Because you got all hot and bothered staring at her, before you found out she was born in the wrong body? That’s the lamest thing I’ve ever heard!”

“No one is born in the wrong body! God doesn’t make mistakes!”

“You certainly do, though,” Spencer observes. “Rollins and Mary Drake are dead. It’s just you, now. And the Keystone Kops back there. And your - whatever Sean is.”

“Sean is a good man,” Ted declares. “Who controls his impure urges. If he kills this - creature - he’ll be released from his wretched sexual confusion.”

“I knew he was gay!” Mona sighs. “What straight man wouldn’t be attracted to Hanna!”

Sean moves towards them again, a little dreamy eyed, holding a flaming candelabra. It’s solid silver and he’s holding it tightly with two hands. The Liars leap to their feet, preparing for a fight, Alison and Emily and Spencer taking a defensive stand in front of Charlotte. Aria throws a hymnal at his head, but misses. She’s moving back to pick up another one when she sees a shadow flitting down the stairs from the tower. She doesn’t have time to wonder about it, though, as Spencer has stabbed Sean in the leg with Wren’s pocket knife, now buried up to its hilt in his upper thigh. He falls backwards and the flames ignite the palm leaves with a whooshing noise. Mona takes off her shoes and hurls them in the direction of Lorenzo and Toby.

Floodlights are ignited outside, shining brightly through the stained glass windows, and a commanding voice booms loudly through the church.

“We have you surrounded. Come out with your hands up.”

In the midst of the commotion, as the rest of them concentrate on subduing Sean and beating out the nearest flames, Pastor Ted grabs the altar linen and moves stealthily towards Charlotte from behind. He has the cloth over her head and his hands around her throat before anyone else has noticed she’s in danger.

Charlotte kicks out against the wooden pew, which draws the attention of Alison and Hanna. Alison tries to pry his left arm away from her sister, while Hanna pulls out all the stops and bites down hard on his right hand. He yelps in pain, but doesn’t loosen his grip, as Toby and Lorenzo move in to assist. Unfortunately the fire, at that moment, reaches Mona’s gasoline soaked shoes, which erupt into a high fashion fireball - setting both men’s dress pants on fire.

Someone is shouting more orders from outside, but Pastor Ted is refusing to relinquish his grip, choking Charlotte with every ounce of strength in his body. Emily and Spencer have joined in the fray, trying to pull him off her by force, but he’s like a man possessed. Aria and Melissa and Mona are doing their best to keep the flames at bay, but the fire is moving so fast that it won’t be long until they’re all engulfed.

A figure hurls towards them from the stairway and bashes Pastor Ted over the head with a metal cannister. His hands go nerveless and his body slumps over the back of a pew. 

Charlotte rips the material away from her face, coughing hard between the smoke and the attempted strangulation. The metal cannister turns out to have been a fire extinguisher, and their new friend helpfully uses it to clear safe passage for them to the side door, grudgingly spraying Toby and Lorenzo with foam along the way.

The scene on the square has gone from sleepy and peaceful to pandemonium. Half the town is out of their beds watching the fire lick its way up the church. Detective Tanner is standing out there with a bull horn, directing an entire platoon of men and women in fatigues.

“Emily!” Pam Fields shouts, running over with Veronica and Ella at her heels. “Thank god you girls are alright!”

Wren and Jason appear behind them as Peter Hastings claps them both on the back.

“What is all this?” Spencer asks, faintly bemused.

“I found Barry Maple crawling through my yard,” Pam explains. “He said he’d been attacked by Toby and Lorenzo. I gave him a ride to the station -”

“Where we’d already been waiting for you for over an hour,” Wren says, gesturing towards Peter. “And where Jason had already been raising a ruckus, trying to get someone to go search the tunnels for his variously missing sisters.”

“We obviously couldn’t trust the Rosewood Police,” Peter continues. “With their winning mixture of corruption and incompetence. So your mother made a call to the governor’s office.”

“I was beside myself,” Veronica declares. “What’s the use of being a State Senator if you can’t call in a favor once in awhile?”

“You called out the National Guard!” Mona exclaims, in an impressed voice. “Ah-mazing!” She pulls a day planner out of her purse. “Are you free for lunch next week, Senator? Because I want to talk about exactly what I need to do to have your exact job in five years.”

Alison turns to Charlotte’s rescuer, hanging back in the shadow of the doorway. “Thank you,” she says. “I thought I was going to lose my sister all over again.”

“Wait a minute,” Hanna says. “Aren’t you Sara Harvey’s driver? Or manservant? Or good right hand?”

Emily turns around, and realizes it is the same guy she snooped the building plans from during the flirt and grab with Spencer.

“I am,” he says, shifting his weight nervously from foot to foot. “I was trying to keep an eye on you.”

“Take a number,” Aria quips. Then she looks harder at the right side of his face. “Did you get burned? Your face is all - bubbling.”

He shakes his head, and reaches a hand over to peel away his ruined mask.

“Creepy innkeeper guy?” Hanna says, pulling her eyes away from the sight of Sean being handcuffed to a stretcher. “What are you doing rushing into a burning building to save our bacon?”

“Weren’t you the janitor at our school?” Emily asks. “You had that diary?”

“We had tea together,” Spencer says. “You’re Harold Crane.”

“No,” Ella says, a hand pressed tightly to her mouth. “He’s not.” She moves forward and puts an arm firmly around Charlotte’s shoulders. “This is Scott Montgomery, Charlotte.”

He holds out his hand. “Whatever you want to call me,” he says. “I’m your father.”


	41. Happily Ever Endgame

Emily and Alison are lounging in a hammock together, the sound of the ocean waves pounding on the beach just a few feet away. Alison is kissing her way down Emily’s neck while Emily runs a leisurely hand through Alison’s hair.

“Get a room,” Spencer says, tossing an ice cube at them good naturedly. She’s wearing sunglasses and a giant white brimmed floppy sun hat and reading in a lounge chair just a few feet away.

“What are you reading?” Aria asks, curiously.

“A Victorian romance novel,” Spencer laughs. “I picked it up at the airport. I feel like I might never have another serious thought again.”

“Is that so bad?” Hanna asks, sprawled out on her towel in the pristine white sand. 

“I have them!” Mona trills, running over with a stack of newspapers in hand. She sits down on her own towel, spread so close to Hanna’s that they overlap a little, and spreads the papers out over Hanna’s back.

“Am I your girlfriend, or a coffee table?” Hanna teases.

“Neither!” Mona says, delightedly. “It’s official! You’re my gal pal! Or I’m your gal pal! We made Page Six!” She folds the section over and passes it to Hanna. “It’s a great picture,” she adds. “You have the most perfect hair on the planet, and I would say that even if I wasn’t completely in love with you.”

“Can I see?” Aria asks, as Hanna passes the paper back to her. “ _Fashionista Rising,_ ” she reads. _“Hanna Marin, New York’s hot young designer dejour, locks lips with her hot young gal pal, political dynamo Mona Vanderwaal at JFK. Word on the street says these two are headed to an assignation on a private island for some extended fun in the sun.”_

“I never get tired of hearing those words together,” Alison muses.

“Gal pal?” Emily asks.

“Private island,” Alison replies.

“Hey,” Aria says, “There’s a picture of your mom, Em. Coming out of the sentencing hearing.”

“She told me she was going,” Emily nods, taking a sip of a pink drink. She pulls out the cocktail umbrella and eats a cherry, then feeds a second one to Alison.

“But look at how she’s looking at Barry Maple,” Spencer comments. “Looks like the sparks are flying to me!”

“She’s been seeing him a little,” Emily confirms. “But let’s not talk about sparks, okay? She’s my mother. She doesn’t do sparks.”

“Believe what you want,” Hanna says. “I think it looks like Pam’s getting down with her bad self. Or Barry’s bad self. Whichever.”

“And could you maybe not call her by her first name?” Emily asks, as Hanna laughs a full throated laugh full of happiness.

“Speaking of moms, my parents have followed up their quick remarriage with an even quicker redivorce.”

“Is that a word?” Mona asks.

“Language is mutable,” Spencer tells her.

“Why did she marry him, anyway?” Alison wonders. 

“She saw him taking Charlotte’s pulse after she was on the ground,” Aria explains. “She thought he killed her to protect me and might need an alibi. But since he didn’t kill her, and she’s not actually dead - I guess the magic was gone.”

“I hear Ella has some sparks of her own flying,” Alison says, in the tone she always reserves for sharing secrets. “She’s been spending some time getting veeeery friendly with Scott Montgomery.”

“He’s helped Mike a lot,” Mona nods. “He’s back on the right medications again.”

“If they get married, Charlotte will be my cousin and my step-sister,” Aria says. “And Alison would be my step-sister’s sister, and Spencer is her brother’s other sister….”

“It’s like on Days,” Hanna shrugs. “Everyone’s related to everyone. As long as no one’s getting killed, it’s one big happy.”

\-----------

Melissa and Charlotte are walking back from the tennis courts, sweaty and smiling. 

“You’re infuriating,” Melissa says, swatting Charlotte with her racket. “You totally let me win on that last shot.”

“Maybe,” Charlotte admits. “You Hastings are so cutthroat, I knew it would make you crazy.”

“We have to play something else now,” Melissa insists. “Croquet. Or bocce. Or poker.”

“You’re not the boss here,” Charlotte replies. “This is my island. I’m in charge.”

“It should be part mine,” Melissa counters. “You were earning interest on my money while I was helping you. Providing you with unpaid labor while you were playing the stock market with my trust fund.” 

“I doubled your already vast fortune,” Charlotte retorts. “And the interest was minimal. Rates are low. It was like, five hundred dollars. Which wouldn’t buy an island. But I tell you what - you can pick out a tree!”

“You’re impossible,” Melissa huffs. Then her tone gets serious. “So the sentencing was today.”

Charlotte nods. “Lorenzo cut a deal at the last minute. He rolled on everyone. They got Ted and Sean and Toby for conspiracy and kidnapping and 214 counts of attempted murder. Consecutive life sentences, no chance of parole.”

“It’s finally over,” Melissa remarks, sitting down on a shady bench and taking a long drink of water.

Charlotte snaps her fingers and a butler appears, wearing white shorts and a pink polo shirt and a very grumpy expression.

“You can’t just snap your fingers for me,” Sara Harvey complains. “It’s rude.”

“I could get a little bell,” Charlotte says, consideringly. “Would you like that better?”

“Could you get us two glasses of champagne?” Melissa asks. “And see if there’s a chessboard anywhere?”

Sara stomps off towards the old hotel that Charlotte is renovating into a luxurious living complex.

“Do you ever worry she’ll kill you in your sleep?” Melissa asks.

“Not really,” Charlotte shrugs. “She lacks initiative. Her big plan for the future is finding a rich husband. She was making moon eyes at Jason when he was down here last month. And I think she might have caught Wren’s eye a bit, when he was here.”

“A naked beetle could catch Wren’s eye.”

“Are you jealous?”

“Please. I liked him better when I thought he might be evil.”

Charlotte nods. “Remember when we were in the runaway SUV?”

“I do.”

“Why did you switch places with me?”

Melissa takes another drink of water. “Because I had the best chance of stopping the car.”

“Not because you were afraid they were going to smash the driver’s side into a tree to try and kill me again?” 

“Okay fine,” Melissa says, rolling her eyes. “I like you. I’ve always liked you. It doesn’t mean you have to make a big deal.”

Charlotte leans over and kisses her, their lips meeting with an almost electric charge. Melissa grabs the neck of Charlotte’s tennis shirt and pulls her closer. They’re so wrapped up in each other, they don’t even notice when Sara Harvey slams the bottle of champagne down in the sand next to them.

\---------------

The sun is starting to set, casting a brilliant orange glow over the turquoise water. Spencer is sitting at the outdoor bar with Aria, watching the sailboats head into the horizon. 

“Could I have another Mai-Tai, please?” Spencer asks Sara Harvey as she stomps towards them.

“Although Cavenaugh originally claimed that he helped Charlotte DiLaurentis fake her own death to evade her would-be murderers, the evidence given by Lorenzo Calderon proved he had merely been confused about who he was supposed to be taking orders from,” Aria reads from the newspaper. 

“Yvonne dumped him like a hot potato,” Spencer says. “She emailed me last week.”

“Why?” Aria asks, surprised.

“She moved to DC,” Spencer says. 

“No,” Aria says. “No. Do not even tell me-”

“Yup,” Spencer says, stirring her drink. “She’s been spending time with Caleb.” She chuckles. “Life is funny, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Aria agrees, pointing down the hill towards the tennis courts, where Charlotte and Melissa are practically horizontal on a bench together. “Took them long enough.”

“Not as long as those two,” Spencer says, nodding towards the hammock where Emily and Alison are kissing lazily, Emily resting a hand in the back pocket of Alison’s tight denim shorts.

“Or them, I guess,” Aria says, watching as Hanna and Mona stop swimming and start kissing passionately in the deeper water a few feet from shore. 

“It’s romantic here,” Spencer says, twirling the ice in her glass a little nervously.

“Very romantic,” Aria agrees. “Can I have a sip of that?”

Spencer slides the drink over, a small smile playing across her face.

“I’ve been thinking about Toby,” Aria announces. “No, wait. Not about him, really. About what he said. About us.”

“About how half of our high school thought we were sleeping together?”

“I’ve just been wondering - why would they think that?”

“Hmmm…” Spencer says, pondering the question. “Maybe because we spent so much time together.”

“Well, we enjoy each others company,” Aria says. “Your company is my favorite kind of company. It always has been.”

“Or maybe it was because we were always so in sync,” Spencer suggests, running her fingers slowly over the back of Aria’s hand.

“That’s what happens,” Aria says, a little breathily. “When you know someone so well. You can anticipate their wants. Finish each others-”

“Sentences,” Spencer concludes, moving a little closer. “You’re right. Maybe they just thought we fit together,” she says, her voice almost a whisper. “Like spoons.”

Aria grins as she wraps a hand around Spencer’s neck and pulls their mouths together.

Spencer kisses back intensely, exploring Aria’s mouth with her tongue, tangling a hand in Aria’s hair and then stroking the back of her neck in a way that makes Aria moan.

Aria breaks the kiss and rests her forehead against Spencer’s.

“I’m little spoon,” she says.

“You’re little,” Spencer says, as the sunset casts a pink glow over Aria’s dark hair. “But you’re big.”

\---------------

Alison is still in the hammock, her body stretched out on top of Emily’s. She’s resting her head on Emily’s chest, listening to the crashing of the waves and the steady beat of Emily’s heart.

“This is the life,” she says, luxuriating in the feel of Emily’s skin against hers, the coconut smell of her sunscreen, the way they’re pressed so close together it feels like nothing is ever going to come between them again. She moves her head enough to graze a kiss along Emily’s jawline. “How long can we stay like this?”

Emily kisses Alison’s earlobe, runs a hand up her spine in a way that makes Ali shiver in spite of the heat. She looks into Alison’s eyes and smiles as she pulls the ring out of her pocket. 

“How about forever?”


End file.
